Interview for Life
by dm-slytherin-prince
Summary: Hermione Granger: Journalist for Witch Weekly. Her new task? Write a story about Draco Malfoy: Widower and 'most eligible bachelor of the year.' Better summary inside. HGDM Rated M for future chapters.
1. Most Eligible Bachelor

_**Summary: **__Hermione Granger is a writer for _Witch Weekly_, and she's just been assigned a new story. Draco Malfoy. He's recently become a widower, and is now the Wizarding London's most eligible bachelor. With her frequent visits for interviews, will something blossom between the two? Or will Hermione simply be forced to watch her twenty-three year old enemy care for his son on his own?_

_**Disclaimer: **_I do NOT own anything pertaining to Harry Potter. If I did, I highly doubt that I would have the time to write this. I would currently be working on the seventh book, wouldn't I?

_**Interview for Life**_

**Chapter One**: _Most Eligible Bachelor_

Hermione Granger was happily seated in her office, her eyes roaming over the most recent story that she'd just written. Her Quick Quotes Quill was currently floating in mid-air above the paper, waiting for more corrections to be made. When Hermione got to the end of the page, a brilliant smile lit up her face and she rose from her seat. "Excellent," was the only word uttered from her mouth as she strode from the room.

Her boss's office was at the end of a lengthy hallway, which adjoined several offices to one-another. Approaching the frosted-glass window, Hermione smirked at her boss's name on the door. Rita Skeeter. Ever since the damned woman had lost her job at _The Daily Prophet_, she'd been looking for a job. Now, she was the supervisor and editor for _Witch Weekly_.

Ruffling the parchment in her hands, Hermione knocked on the glass, hearing the faint, "come in," through the window. Her smile still in place, Hermione stepped into the office, not bothering to shut the door behind her. "I have your Deatheater story finished. 'Final Deatheater Captured and Reprimanded' was the title you suggested, was it not?" Rita nodded her head, extending her hand to receive the new story. "Well, I rather would have named it, 'Wizard World Now Cleared of Scum' but we can't do that. All because Draco Malfoy got off with a warning." She hissed, handing her boss the paper, her smile no longer visible.

Rita smirked, glancing over her glasses at her prized writer. "Now that you've mentioned it, I figure we might as well talk about it. Close the door, Hermione, dear."

Hermione arched a brow for only a second before slipping the door shut with her foot, turning and seating herself in the chair in front of Rita's desk. "I know very well, Rita, that you don't sweet-talk me unless you have a very viable reason. What despicable story do you want me to report, now?" Three years working for this woman, she ought to have learned a bit.

Rita released an obnoxious laugh before folding her arms across her desk, looking rather serious now that she had her convincing to do. "As you know, we do a 'year's most eligible bachelor' story, once a year, of course," Hermione nodded her head in understanding. "Well . . . This year, our most eligible bachelor is actually a widower. And, fortunately, you should know him well enough to be able to work some things out of him. You **did** attend school with him, after all."

Hermione's brow furrowed as she glared at her boss, crossing her arms across her chest, lips pursed. Clicking her tongue, she lightened her expression, if only slightly, "**You're** telling me, that Parkinson died," Rita nodded, "that Malfoy is single," another nod, "and that you want **me** to **interview** him?" Skeeter offered another nod. Hermione rose so quickly from her seat, that the chair beneath her toppled onto its back. "Why can't we use Harry? He's been the year's most eligible bachelor since I started working here!"

Rita chuckled, "you of all people should know why. Or, have you forgotten how long it takes to write up a story and publish it? He'll be married by the time the magazine is released, Hermione. I thought you were Ginny's maid of honor?"

Hermione visibly blushed at her forgetfulness. _Sure, I can remember written information, but verbal invitations to weddings completely slip my mind. _She rolled her eyes, righting the chair and sinking back into it. "Why do you need **me** to interview Draco Malfoy?"

Rita smiled, adjusting her position to rest her chin on the backs of her hands, "I knew you'd ask that question." She let out a thoughtful sigh, her eyes trailing to her favorite picture for only a moment. "Because you are the only member of my staff talented enough, and mentally strong enough, to handle Mr. Malfoy. Besides, who else to send on the biggest story of the year, than my best writer?" The blond offered a dazzling smile and Hermione groaned.

"Fine, Rita. But, I want a raise for this job. I will also need an extension on the publishing date, because I know how hard it is to force information from a Malfoy. I murdered his father, after all." She shook her head, realizing exactly how difficult this was going to be. "Hopefully, this won't start a third war in the wizarding world." She got a sudden idea as she rose from her chair, leaning forward a bit toward her boss. "Was Parkinson's death reported in the news?" Rita nodded, "was it a big story?" A second nod, "did Malfoy seem upset?"

At this question, Hermione received a snort. "Hermione, dearest, it was an arranged marriage. He took it as though he'd lost a relative he'd never even met." Rita's eyes softened for a moment, shifting to the picture on her desk once more. "Although, his three-year-old son seems to be taking it roughly. He doesn't quite understand why his mum hasn't come home."

Hermione's back straightened immediately, her eyebrows shooting into her hairline. "You mean to tell me that Draco Malfoy has a son?" Rita bobbed her head, "then why the Hell would he need another wife?"

Rita sniggered, rising from her own chair "because he feels he needs a 'woman's touch' in his home. A female aid to raise his son. We're not entirely sure what he's looking for. It hasn't been proven that a Malfoy can love." Butting the parchment against her desktop, Rita laid them down neatly. "I'll go over your story later. For right now, I need to go to lunch. And I do believe that you have a story to start on. There's a carriage outside that will take you to Malfoy Manor, seeing as no one can apparate onto the property. Even if they could, you wouldn't know what it looks like. I'll walk out with you."

-;-;-;

Two hours later, Hermione could feel the obvious slowing of the carriage as it pulled onto a dirt road. Pulling back the maroon curtain concealing the window, she glanced outside. What she saw made her breath catch.

The grass was so green that it was practically blinding and a pond was located not far off of the road they were following. Trees were scattered randomly, growing denser as they got further away. Then, as they continued forward, Hermione saw the largest house she had ever seen. It was gray, and made completely of stone.

The dirt turned into gravel, and a circular drive was formed around a small garden and statue, which Hermione was still trying to see. Shrugging defeat, she focused back on the house in front of her as the carriage came to a stop. The walls were lined with beautiful bushes, whether flowered or not. For a moment, Hermione was about to ask if she were at the wrong house.

Before she had a chance, a tiny house-elf came skittering out the front door, rushing to the carriage and releasing the journalist. Hermione smiled down at the creature as she climbed out, kneeling carefully so as not to pull her skirt too high. The house-elf quivered, turning its head away and squinting. "Well, hello there. Do you work for Mr. Malfoy?" Hermione's voice was soft and soothing, the house-elf visibly relaxing, if only just a little.

The small green head bobbed in the positive as he swung the carriage door shut. Before Hermione could say anything, the four black horses were urged back into a run and reined out of the driveway. "This way, missus. Master Draco is not liking to wait. Come, follow Mipsy." Hermione did as she was told, taking small steps to remain behind the elf. She was ushered through the front door, and she finally placed that this was, in fact, Malfoy Manor.

The entrance was nothing but classy, black marble; white lines standing out within the stone to prove its origin. A large, wide staircase stood several feet away, emerald-green velvet concealing the hard steps beneath. A door stood to her left, which Hermione assumed was the study. As she turned to head that direction, the house elf tugged lightly on her knee-length skirt. "May Mipsy take missus' cloak?" Hermione smiled, nodding as she quickly unhooked the clasp and handed it to the small creature. With a snap of its fingers, the warm fabric was hanging on a coat rack beside the entrance. "This way, miss. Master Draco waits always in the library."

Hermione followed the elf around a corner on their right, walking through a high-ceilinged room that she assumed could be whatever Malfoy would need at the time. At the moment, it was set up as a dining room, a lengthy mahogany table resting in the center beneath a gigantic chandelier. Hermione was suddenly stopped by the elf as she was tugging on her suit jacket, making sure it was free of wrinkles. As the elf knocked and spoke through the door, Hermione ran her fingers through tight curls. "Master Malfoy . . . A missus is here to see yous."

When Hermione heard the voice echoing from the other side, she was almost positive that she was in the wrong house. Draco's voice had never been warm and welcoming . . . Had it? "Yes, Mipsy. Show her in. Make sure that Chayton is behaving himself in his play room, won't you?" Mipsy stretched tall to open the door, twisting the handle and pushing it open. Motioning with its hand for Hermione to enter, the house elf was quickly gone with a 'crack.'

Hermione waltzed into the most amazing library that she had ever seen; chocolate eyes roaming across the vast quantity of decorated spines that were currently facing her. She nudged the door shut with a heeled shoe, her mouth dropping open slightly as she tried to take in the seemingly never-ending supply of shelves. A voice, from somewhere in the middle of the room, cleared her thoughts. "Granger? I had a feeling they would send you. Stop drooling over the fact that my family has money and let's get this over with." Hermione's eyes narrowed as she adjusted her vision to the blond, who was currently seated in a rather plush-looking armchair. Nope, he hadn't changed.

Running the palms of her hands along her skirt, she approached her long-time rival, taking a seat upon the couch without bothering to be offered. Flicking her wand, she smiled as a quill and parchment appeared in her lap. "So, **Mister** Malfoy. As you're probably already aware, I'm here for _Witch Weekly _to do a story on our most eligible bachelor for the year. How it happened to be you, I haven't the **faintest** idea." She saw Malfoy snarl, yet continued on, "but, it's not my decision. So, seeing as you are the one being interviewed, where would you prefer we begin?" Her quill was now in her hand, the plume rolling between her thumb and forefinger.

Malfoy arched a brow at her, leaning back comfortably in his chair, fingers combing through platinum blond locks. "Merlin . . . Don't tell me that you're actually catering to **my** preferences? Honestly, Granger, I expected you to come in here with a strict outline of this interview. Not very prepared, are you?" He offered her his famous smirk, his right leg lifting to rest the ankle on his left knee.

Hermione rolled her eyes, setting the quill down gently atop the parchment. "I didn't come here to argue, Malfoy. I would like to get this session over with. So, if you would rather I start with random questions, I will. What was life like growing up inside of the Malfoy Manor?" Her tone sounded bored, as she really couldn't care about Malfoy's childhood at the moment. She wrote down the question on the parchment, indenting a bit on the second line, so she would know what her queries' answer was.

Malfoy's smirk disappeared instantly, although he kept his carefree air rather easily. "How do you think it would be, as he son of a Deatheater? Having been raised to despise anyone who isn't pureblood, and then forced into servitude for a half-blood who hates his own kind? It would be wise for you to start with another question. I'm not going to pour out my past to you on your first visit." His grin had returned, although it appeared that he was becoming bored with the situation, his eyes drifting around the room.

When Hermione spoke, Malfoy wrenched his head around to look at her, not expecting the sudden question. "How long were you betrothed to Miss Parkinson before you were married?" It was a simple question, and if he honestly didn't care about his late wife, Hermione would find out now.

"It was arranged when we were six years old. Thus the reason she was constantly attached to my arm through school at Hogwarts. We were married four years ago, when the war was just beginning to end. It was Voldemort's idea, and Pansy **had** to abide by the 'Dark Lords' orders. Despicable." The expression on his face almost made Hermione laugh. He looked like he'd just sucked a raw lemon, and was about to spit the juice upon the ground.

Releasing a silent strain of laughter, she wrote down the reply before coming up with another question. "So . . . You were against Voldemort and," suddenly, something hit her. "Wait a moment . . . You referred to him with his first name."

"So I did, Granger. It's good to see that you're still on top of things." He leaned forward, lifting his wand from the table and twirling it about his fingers, trying to keep himself entertained. "I'm not afraid of him, like most people. Not only that, but Potter killed him, so why shouldn't I be allowed to say his name?"

Hermione simply shrugged in response to his question before she began prodding him once more. "As I was saying; you were against Voldemort, and Miss Parkinson was for him. Did that affect your relationship at all?" She was writing down the question as she asked it, silently wishing that she'd brought her Quick Quotes Quill.

"Yes and no," he paused, trying to think of the best way to explain their situation to an outsider. "I was very good at pretending. I could make anyone believe that I adored my position. In all honesty, the only reason that I remained beneath Voldemort's servitude is because of my reputation, and the reputation of Malfoys to come. I did what I had to in order for my family name to remain safe. Now I have no need to worry, as that bloody bastard's finally dead." He was very focused on his shoe, pointing his wand at it and changing it different colors to keep himself busy.

"Well, it's certainly good to know that you were serving him for your own benefits, instead of your want to murder." Hermione was sarcastic, her eyes rolling once again.

"Did you come here to berate and belittle me, or are you here for an interview? You asked a question, and I bloody well answer it, Mu-Granger." Draco recovered easily, setting his wand down on the cushion beside him as if nothing had happened. His shoe was now back to its original color: Black.

Hermione's eyes were wide at the fact that Draco had just stopped himself. Ceased in calling her a name she'd known for just as long as she'd know him. "Why did you stop yourself from calling me a Mudblood, Malfoy?" She was curious, her voice holding more malice in it than she wished.

Draco simply raised an eyebrow, smirking, "I honestly have no idea what you're talking about, Granger. Shall we get back to the questions, now?"

"Not until you answer this one. What happened to force you into no longer using the word 'Mudblood?' Why did you stop yourself?" Her quill was scribbling down everything their conversation was filled with, eagerly wishing to record his sudden change of heart.

Snarling, Draco rose from his chair and pointed to the door. "Out, Granger. I've had enough of your pathetic questions for the evening. Next time; be sure to send an owl in advance. I would want you randomly arriving while I'm . . . Unavailable." He left it at that, watching Hermione as she flicked her wand and rose.

The parchment and quill disappearing, Hermione made her way to the door of the library, not bothering to look back until she'd pulled open the door. "I'll have you know, Malfoy, that I'll find out one way or another. It might be easier on you, if you simply come out with it. Good day, **Mister** Malfoy. I'll be here tomorrow about noon." With that, she strode from the room, slamming the door behind her.

_**A/N: **_Simply updating all of the chapters.


	2. Visits and Confessions

_**Summary: **__Hermione Granger is a writer for _Witch Weekly_, and she's just been assigned a new story. Draco Malfoy. He's recently become a widower, and is now the Wizarding London's most eligible bachelor. With her frequent visits for interviews, will something blossom between the two? Or will Hermione simply be forced to watch her twenty-three year old enemy care for his son on his own?_

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything pertaining to Harry Potter. Chayton, however, is mine. ~Smirks.~

_**Interview for Life**_

**Chapter Two: **_Visits and Confessions_

_Why the Hell didn't he call me Mudblood?_ Hermione was pacing in her flat, parchment and quill forgotten atop her writing desk. Coursing her fingers through her hair, she flopped onto her couch with a frustrated sigh. Crookshanks eyed her from the back of the couch, his flat head tilting slightly in confusion. This earned a smile from his owner, who reached up to scratch him behind the ear. "At least **you** haven't changed any."

Hermione sprang into a sitting position at the knock on her door, her eyebrows lifting curiously. Another sigh escaped her lips as she rose from the couch, adjusting her pajamas before she opened the door. Standing in front of her was one Mr. Harry Potter; a little behind him stood Ronald Weasley. Hermione tilted her head upward slightly to get a good look at them. "Honestly, I'm sure my neighbors believe you to be menacing beings, what with those terrifying expressions on your faces. Come in and **do** tell me what the problem is?" She opened the door wide, motioning with her hand that they should come in.

The two men did so, sitting side-by-side on the couch, still looking depressed and frustrated. Hermione seated herself on the floor, her legs immediately covered by a gingery feline. Ron was the first to speak, "honestly, 'Mione, she's driving us mad!"

"Insanely mad. I don't know if I'll pull out if this and still be right in the head!" Harry seemed to snap out of whatever daze he was in, emerald eyes flashing to Hermione with a pleading look. "You have to help us. Talk to her, or something! Get her to calm down. I'm beginning to wish I'd never gotten into this whole thing . . ."

"Harry James Potter! You take that back, right this instant!" Hermione's eyes were narrowed, her nose up in the air as she so often did in her lecturing moments. "I know perfectly well that you both love Ginny dearly. Just because she's stressed out about the wedding, doesn't mean that you have a right to come here and complain about it!" She held up her hand, seeing Ron's mouth opening to protest, "I don't care, Ronald. Now, you're more than welcome to stay in my guest bedroom for the night, so long as the complaining ceases. I can owl Ginny to let her know that you're here." Both boys were nodding enthusiastically and Hermione had to force herself not to laugh. She leaned backward, snagging her quill and parchment from her desk with amazing ease. "I'll say that we're having Golden Trio bonding time. It **has** been a while since I've been alone with you two." She smirked as she scribbled down a quick note to Ginny—forcing Ron and Harry to sign it—to let her know that the boys were okay.

Her owl was waiting happily on its perch and he released a hoot of pleasure when Hermione approached with the letter. "Take this to Ginny Weasley." The owl seemed to nod at her before grasping the envelope in its beak and flying out the already open window. Turning to her two best friends, she eyed them curiously. "Why do you always have to come to me when I'm at my busiest? Even in school, you needed assistance from me when I had a report to do."

"Let me remind you, 'Mione, that your reports were always finished months in advance." Ron offered her a smile before rising from the couch. When Hermione went to smack him for his comment, he stilled her hand and gave her the biggest hug she thought she'd ever had. "We've missed you so much, 'Mione!" He held her out at arm's length to get a good look at her, "what big project are you working on anyway?"

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by Harry. "She's writing the 'year's most eligible bachelor' story, right Hermione?" She nodded, twirling a strand of hair between her fingers. "Well . . . Considering that it's not me, and it **certainly** isn't Ron," this caused the redhead to release Hermione, shaking a fist menacingly at Harry. "Who is it?"

Muddy eyes widened as she realized what this meant. She would have to explain to Harry and Ron that she was going to be spending every day with Malfoy for quite some time. This made her cringe inwardly as she imagined their reactions. "Malfoy. Draco sodding Malfoy is _Witch Weekly_'s most eligible bachelor for the year. Apparently, Rita couldn't find anyone else suited for the job. Not even her Animagus secret can help me out of this one." Her nose was up in the air again, daring one of the boys to complain about her position.

Harry quirked an eyebrow as he sprawled out on the couch. "I thought he got married to Parkinson a while back. Didn't they have a kid, or something?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, seating herself on the edge of the couch beside her best friend. "Honestly Harry, don't you ever read _The Daily Prophet_? Parkinson died, so now he's a widower **and** the most eligible bachelor. Not to mention, he's still the same Malfoy. Of course, I have yet to see if he's gotten worse. I suppose I'll figure that out tomorrow. Which reminds me," rising from the couch, she headed to her bedroom, pausing in the doorway. "I have an early morning tomorrow. You boys know where everything is, make yourselves at home." She flashed them a pleasant smile before shutting her door and climbing into bed. This was going to be the worst assignment she'd ever have to complete.

-;-;-;

Hermione owled Draco the moment she woke, informing him of the fact that she would be over in the afternoon. After watching Aragorn—she'd acquired the name from a Muggle movie—fly through the window, she prepared herself for a shower. Harry and Ron were still snoring loudly, which made her smirk as she waltzed back into her bedroom.

-;-;-;

Prepared for her next interview, Hermione examined her appearance in the mirror. She had donned a favorite of muggle designs. A pinstriped business suit, the skirt running to knee-length—it was appropriate and professional. She had twisted her hair into an elegant bun, yet several tendrils found it their daily routine to cascade into her face; several of years trying to get them to stay within the twist forced her to realize it was a battle that could not be won.

Stepping into a pair of black high-heels, Hermione knocked on the door to the guest bedroom, having finally heard movement. "Wha?" Was the one-word reply that she received from the other side of the door.

"I have to go for an interview with Malfoy. Can you two manage everything while I'm gone? You're more than welcome to stay until I get home, but Merlin knows how long this will take. Don't be afraid to owl me, if you want me to pick something up on the way home." Hermione wrinkled her nose at the fact that she sounded very motherly.

Harry opened the door, running his fingers through his black hair, which was messier than usual. Hermione had to smile at his sleepy demeanor as he responded to her with a yawn. "Yeeeaaaah. We'll probably stay here for a while. Do you have any movies lying around?" He quirked an eyebrow curiously, knowing for a fact that she must have some, as she was muggle-born.

Hermione nodded her head, pointing into her room. "My television and movies are in my bedroom. You're more than welcome to watch them in there, so long as you don't go through my things." She wrinkled her nose again, sticking her tongue out for extra affect before she headed toward the door.

She heard Harry chuckle from behind her and she spun around to eye him, lids narrowed. "And what, Harry, is so bloody funny?" One eyebrow arched in a haughty form as she lifted her purse from the small table next to the door.

"It's just . . . You're awfully dressed up to be meeting with Malfoy. Are you sure you're feeling well?" He finally left the confines of the room, shutting the door behind him and leaning his shoulder against it. As Hermione opened her mouth to retort, Harry held up a hind to silence her. "I know. It's your job, you **have** to look professional. But, from what it looks like, you're wearing your best suit. Not trying to prove something to that git, are you, 'Mione?"

Hermione stared at Harry, dumbfounded for only a moment before she snorted, swung her purse over her shoulder, and forced her way through the door. _I have absolutely nothing to prove, Harry. So . . . Ugh! _Hermione stepped outside of her flat, apparating to her office to snag her Quick Quotes Quill. As much as she loved it, the darned thing wouldn't conjure properly. Making sure it was tucked safely within her bag, she met the carriage downstairs for the long trek to Malfoy Manor.

-;-;-;

Standing outside the large door, Hermione tried her best to remain calm about the situation. She was just beginning to think that no one was home when the door opened. Her jaw dropped at the image before her. There stood Malfoy, sopping wet with a towel around his waist. A second strip of fabric was draped over his head, his fingers scrubbing furiously at the platinum locks. "What the bloody Hell do you want, Granger? You said you would be here this afternoon. Naturally, that means after twelve PM, or so I assumed. It's only nine o'clock." He pulled the towel down from his head, allowing it to rest on his shoulders. "Wipe that ridiculous look off of your face. Someone might think you've never seen a half-naked man before." He smirked at this, figuring that she probably hadn't. Granger was, after all, a prude.

Hermione's eyebrows lifted at the sudden verbal assault, her fist clenching at her side. Oh, what she would give to be able to punch him! Yet before she had a chance to take any action, he had stepped out of the doorway, waving for her to come inside. Grumbling something inaudible, she walked through the threshold into the—now familiar—entry way. "Are we continuing in the library? Or would you like me to sit outside of your bathroom door while you primp yourself?" Her voice came out in a very Slytherin-like hiss, her hand immediately coming up to her mouth. It wasn't contagious, was it?

A sound emanated from where Draco stood and it took Hermione only a second to realize that he was growling at her. She snorted, trying to keep herself from making a comment about 'feral animals.' Malfoy swept passed her, purposely ramming his shoulder into hers as he continued up the stairs. "If you will continue into the library, I'll meet you there shortly for our . . . Session."

Hermione rolled her eyes, glanced at Draco as he made his way down the hallway. "Merlin's sake, Malfoy! You make me sound like a therapist! Of course . . . I wouldn't be surprised if you needed one." She mumbled that last part before rounding the corner and ending up in front of the large double-doors. Striding into the vast room, she took hold of a random book and seated herself on the couch. Leaning her back against the armrest, she kicked off her heels and stretched her legs out across the cushions, the book in her lap. It had been so long since she'd relaxed and simply . . . Read.

-;-;-;

Draco graced the room with his presence about twenty minutes after their hallway confrontation, dressed impeccably in black and green robes. As he passed the couch, he glanced down at Hermione, who was currently oblivious to all occurrences in the world outside of her book. Lifting his leg, he tapped the toe of his shoe against her calf. This caused Hermione to startle and she ended up rolling off the edge of the couch. Pushing herself up, she glared at Malfoy with hatred unlike anything else known to man. "Must you always be so frustrating, Malfoy?" She straightened her skirt before seating herself upon the couch once more, leaning down to pick up the dropped book.

As Hermione set the book upon the small coffee table, Draco raised his eyebrows. "What obnoxious questions have you decided to ask me today?" As the brunette went to reply, the door to the library opened and a midget came bolting into the room. Hermione surveyed the child for a moment, her eyebrow quirking curiously. Here stood a blond boy, who looked much like a younger version of his father. Yet, something caught Hermione as off. The boy had green eyes. Draco smirked as the boy climbed onto the chair beside his father, sitting straight and regal. He was definitely a Malfoy. "Granger, this is Chayton Malfoy. My son." Draco had expected some startled reaction. What he did receive, was completely out of the blue.

"I don't remember ever meeting your mother, Malfoy, but I do recall that she had blue eyes. Not only that, but Parkinson's eyes were brown. Where did his green eyes come from?" The small boy lifted his nose into the air, running his fingers through his hair. "And why did you corrupt him with your arrogance?"

Draco sneered before placing a hand on his son's back and lightly guiding him off of the seat. "Why don't you go torture Mipsy? I'm sure that she hasn't been irritated enough today." As Chayton turned to look at his father, Draco offered a sincere smile. Hermione had to stifle a gasp. Draco Malfoy actually smiled.

As soon as the boy was out of the room and the library doors were closed once again, Draco released a heavy sigh. "Do not speak to me of corrupting my son. He is a Malfoy, he has a certain reputation to live up to." He paused, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Since this is an interview, I will divulge in private information. But, if any of what I am about to tell you is ever leaked to the press, I will kill you without question. Understood?" Hermione nodded her head, her eyes wide. Draco glanced at her, recognizing an emotion he didn't care to witness. Was Granger actually showing him fear? Shaking his head, he continued, "when Pansy and I were married, everything seemed to be going along fine. Save the fact that she willingly followed Voldemort and I simply did it for appearances. After being married for a year, she came to tell me that she was not able to bear children. Some horrid accident she'd been in as a child—I don't particularly care." He saw Hermione about to speak and simply waved his hand to silence her. "Do not interrupt. Continuing on, she left shortly after for a mission that Voldemort sent her on. I ended up having an affair with an **anonymous** woman. She contacted me three months later to inform me of the fact that she was carrying my child." Halting yet again, he seemed to be having an internal confrontation. "There is more on that story, but it will have to wait for another time."

Hermione finally found it appropriate to speak, her eyes locking onto Draco's for a moment before she looked away, ashamed. "Who is his real mother?"

"Stop being a nosy, little bookworm, Granger. Did you not hear me say that she was anonymous?" He rose from his seat, looking venomous in his stride as he made his way to one of the bookshelves.

"You had to have known her name, Malfoy. You don't indulge in intimacies with someone and not know their name. Aside from that, she contacted you to inform you of her pregnancy. You should know who she is." Hermione rose as well, striding to stand directly in front of him, blocking his view of the books.

Draco sneered yet again, his eyes narrowing as his arm jutted out, his fingers gripping her throat loosely. "I told you, Granger, that the name of the woman is of no importance. That subject is closed. Do you understand?" Hermione tried her best to nod with the feel of his hand blocking her air. Now that she thought about it, her entire neck was in his hand.

She struggled slightly, her eyes wide before she managed to jab her fist into his side. He released her, stepping back and placing a hand upon the soon-to-be bruise. "If you place your hands on me again, Malfoy, I'll aim lower. Do you understand me?" Her voice was dripping with spite, her fists clenched at her sides.

"I find it amusing that you would even know where to strike. Or did you read about anatomy in a book, mud-Granger?" He was growing angry again, and that never did any good. Draco saw her eyebrows lift curiously as he caught himself once more. He had to stop doing that.

Hermione made her way back to the couch, seating herself and watching Draco closely. "Is there any information that you wish to tell me about your background? I'm sure your admirers would **love** to learn about you." She was still angry, the slight hiss in her throat betraying her mood as she slipped her shoes back onto her feet.

Running his fingers through his hair, Draco seated himself in the plush armchair that he obviously preferred. He watched her for a moment, observing her actions, the way she fiddled with the hem of her skirt when she didn't get a reply. He smirked, lifting his chin slightly as he looked at her. "To be frank, no. I believe this conversation is over with for the day. If you wouldn't mind, I believe I need to spend some . . . **Quality** time with my son. I expect you know your own way to the door, by now?" He rose then, not even offering her a goodbye as he exited the library.

Fuming, Hermione rose from the couch, her purse in her hand. When she exited the library, she couldn't help but shout, "why do you have to be so bloody impossible!" She hastily made her way to the door, pausing for only a second when she heard the distinct sound of laughter. And it wasn't maniacal.

_**A/N:**_ Again, just updating chapters.


	3. Cowards with Courage

_**Summary: **__Hermione Granger is a writer for _Witch Weekly_, and she's just been assigned a new story. Draco Malfoy. He's recently become a widower, and is now Wizarding London's most eligible bachelor. With her frequent visits for interviews, will something blossom between the two? Or will Hermione simply be forced to watch her twenty-three year old enemy care for his son on his own?_

_**Disclaimer: **_And to think you'd have the idea by now. ~Chuckles~

_**Interview For Life**_

**Chapter Three: **_Cowards with Courage_

Hermione sat in her office, staring at the parchment in front of her. Her elbows rested upon the desktop, fingers bunched in her hair. _Why wouldn't he tell me who the mother is? I can understand if he's embarrassed about having an affair, but this seemed like something worse._ Suddenly, she sat up straight, staring wide-eyed at the door leading to the hallway. _The woman __**couldn't**__ have been Muggle-born. He's Draco Malfoy. He 'couldn't lower himself to engage in sexual activities with anyone other than a pureblood.' Although, that outbreak was __**quite**__ violent._ Shaking her head, she rose from her seat, pacing in front of her desk.

Her fingers ran through her hair as she paused, glancing at the clock on her wall. With a heavy sigh, she snagged her cloak from the coat rack. Spinning around, her fingers clutched her purse before she stepped out into the hallway, sending a very un-Hermione look at Rita. "I hate you, Skeeter," she called as she passed her boss's office.

Rita's laughter was heard preceding her comment. "I know, dear!" This only caused Hermione to grow more furious, her fist slamming into the elevator's 'down' button. She cringed at the pain, rubbing her knuckles tenderly as she stepped into the metal box. Merlin help Malfoy if he irritated her today.

-;-;-;

Hermione sat at the kitchen table, a cup of tea in her hands as Mipsy the house elf prepared more for her master. The tiny elf was ranting about how often Chayton chased her about the house, which Hermione found **quite** entertaining as Mipsy was normally very shy.

Draco strode into the room with Chayton in his arms and a smile on his face, pausing in the doorway when he noticed Hermione. He carefully lowered his son to the ground before taking the seat opposite his visitor. His voice sounded more like a growl, "I didn't hear you come in."

Hermione smirked, "apparently not, **dad**." She reached into her purse to pull out her Quick Quotes Quill and her wand, flicking it and watching as a piece of parchment floated to the tabletop in front of her. "Is it going to perturb you if I ask how you were let off of Deatheater charges?" Her eyebrows were raised, her chin jutting out slightly as if she were waiting for a challenge.

Draco's shoulders rolled in a lazy shrug as he accepted his tea from Mipsy. He took his time adding cream and sugar, not even bothering to glance at Hermione when he spoke. "I fed inside information to the Order." It was a simple statement, but it only lead the brunette into deeper questions.

"How did you manage to pull that off? Wasn't Voldemort skilled in Legilimency?" The quill scribbled hurriedly, trying to keep up with the conversation going on around it.

Draco snorted, "yes he was. There is this **lovely** invention drifting around. It's called a pensieve. You drop your memories in it, and—"

"I'm not daft, Malfoy. I know what a pensieve is." She lifted her tea to her lips, taking a small sip of the warm liquid. "I would think that Voldemort would force daily pensieve checks."

"He wanted to. Yet, when all of his Deatheaters began to hide them away, he figured it wasn't worth it. It's not like he could kill **all **of them for disobeying." He was smirking, watching Chayton as he repeatedly tugged on one of Mipsy's large ears.

Hermione scoffed when she noticed what he was looking at; "he's definitely your son. He's extremely skilled in the art of annoying people. Did you teach him that, too?" Her voice was cold, one eyebrow lifting just a bit to urge Draco on.

Draco sneered to show his distaste, glaring at Hermione. "Are you ignorant enough not to notice that every time you come over for an interview, you insist that we argue over something? As pleasing as it is to irritate you, I don't wish to make a hobby of it." Now both of Hermione's eyebrows were raised, her mouth dropping open slightly. Draco caught on to her shocked stare, rolling his eyes. "You know perfectly well what I meant; it was not a compliment. I'd rather you hurry up and get this over with, so I don't have to see you anymore."

Hermione shrugged her shoulders, tilting her mug back to take another swig of tea. She then noticed the quill still scribbling and her eyebrow arched. "Stupid thing, always recording," she pointed to several parts of the conversation, "scratch that. And that. That doesn't need to be there, either." The large plume obeyed, scratching off the paragraphs that Hermione indicated. "How did Parkinson die, Malfoy? I read through the story in _The Daily Prophet_ and it said that the cause of her death was not released."

Draco took a drink of his tea, obviously deciding that it wasn't sweet enough as he dished another spoon full of sugar into his cup. Taking another taste, he nodded his head in approval before turning his attention on Hermione. Clearly, he liked to take his time in responding. "Honestly, the way she died is extremely unusual, considering the circumstances. She was shopping in some Muggle city that carried a brand of clothing she appreciated. Of course, she took the family automobile to do so. I may add, of course, that we no longer have the vehicle. I take it you can put two and two together, Granger?" He was smirking again, daring her to look even the **least** bit confused.

"Yes, **Malfoy**, I can put the clues together. It's interesting to know that the 'infamous Pansy Parkinson' was mortal enough to die in a car accident." She was returning Draco's teasing grin, swirling her spoon within her mug.

Draco chuckled lightly, lowering his eyes to his tea. "She didn't die in a car accident, Granger. She was murdered and the vehicle was taken in for evidence. You thought I would give you an obvious answer? And no, we still do not know who the murderer is. Muggle police **and** aurors are currently working on the investigation." Pausing, Draco combed his fingers through his hair, his smirk growing more obnoxious as he thought of something. "It wasn't you, was it Granger? I know that you've had a thing for me ever since first year. Would you stoop low enough to killing my wife, just so you could interview me?"

Hermione jumped from her seat, glaring daggers at Malfoy before she rounded the counter, her wand jabbed into his throat. "I have absolutely **no** feelings for you Malfoy, except for complete and utter loathing. If I had wanted to kill Parkinson, I would have done you in shortly afterward. Not only that, but I would have been wise enough to turn myself in. Unlike you, I am** not **a coward." Malfoy had a similar expression on his face as to the one he wore in their third year, when Hermione had him in much the same position.

Yet, something in his eyes told Hermione that she had better back away and as she did, she noticed his own wand had been drawn from his pocket and aimed at her stomach. "I'm hardly a coward, Granger. If I could take you back in time and force you to bend to Voldemort's every wish and command, I would. Because then you would understand what being a coward is **really** like. You fought on the easy side, where no one was telling you that you had to do this, and you had to do that. You didn't have to constantly watch your back to make sure that Potty or Weasel wouldn't sneak up on you and bind you for a death-sentence. If you'd had to deal with that, I doubt you would be standing here today." His expression was completely menacing; Hermione had been so focused on his words that she hadn't realized she was backing away from him until her back hit the wall.

Recovering, she stepped forward, running her palms across her skirt in a nervous gesture. "I don't remember hearing any news about one Draco Malfoy reporting to the Order. Considering how involved I was, I'm certain I would have caught **some** of the information you passed on." She made her way calmly back to her seat, her fingers combing through her hair as she sat.

Draco offered her a teasing smile, his fingers drumming against the side of his teacup. "Ah, but that's where you're wrong, Granger. You probably caught **all** of the information that I passed to the order. I believe I signed every letter with 'Anonymous.' In fact, that's what the Order came to call me, for a time. It was quite entertaining to watch them at their attempts to discover who I was. A shame that even you couldn't figure it out." He took another sip, watching her over the porcelain.

"I was never allowed to see the original copies of any letters sent in. I suppose the Order was afraid that they would become damaged somehow. Otherwise, I would have figured out who it was rather quickly. Handwriting can be easily recognized." She downed the last of her tea, rising from her chair and placing the cup in the sink. "I should be going. I'll see you tomorrow, Malfoy." With that, she strode from the room, not even offering him a glance.

Draco simply watched her leave, smirking as he turned his head to Mipsy. "I find it entertaining that she finally grew the courage to walk out on me." He handed the elf his cup before scooping his son into his arms and heading for the playroom.

_**A/N: **_Still just updating. No changes to the actual story as of yet.


	4. Sudden Revelations

_**Summary: **__Hermione Granger is a writer for _Witch Weekly_, and she's just been assigned a new story. Draco Malfoy. He's recently become a widower, and is now Wizarding London's most eligible bachelor. With her frequent visits for interviews, will something blossom between the two? Or will Hermione simply be forced to watch her twenty-three year old enemy care for his son on his own?_

_**Disclaimer:**_Feeling a tad redundant, but, I do NOT own anything pertaining to Harry Potter. All rights belong to J.K. Rowling.

_**Interview for Life**_

**Chapter Four: **_Sudden Revelations_

Hermione's mind was racing as she climbed into the carriage. She seated herself, shutting the door swiftly before glancing out the window at the large house. _Why does he always get to me?_ She went to grab her parchment, hoping to write down a few things when she realized that she'd left her purse inside the house. _Bloody Hell. Smart, Hermione, really smart. _She banged hard on the top of the carriage, signaling that she wanted it to stop. As soon as it had, she stepped outside of it, making her way back up to the large mansion.

She lifted the heavy silver knocker, banging it against the surface as she waited for someone to answer the door. A small crevice revealed itself; Mipsy's nose visible as it stuck through. Hermione smiled brightly, "hello again, Mipsy. I left my purse, parchment and quill in the kitchen. Do you think you could grab it for me? I really don't want to be more of a bother than I already have been." _Wait a minute . . . More of a bother? It's Malfoy! _"Scratch that, Mipsy. I'll get it myself, if you don't mind." The small creature nodded, opening the door to allow Hermione entrance.

Walking carefully so as not to click her heels against the marble floor, she began to make her way to the kitchen. She was almost there when a voice caused her to freeze mid-stride. "Couldn't stand to stay away, hm? It's that blasted Malfoy magnetism, you see." Hermione relaxed slightly, turning to send a glare at Draco. He looked very calm, with his shoulder-pad resting against the wall. It irritated Hermione, and she huffed before striding into the kitchen. Malfoy was quick to follow. "I moved your purse when I realized you'd left it. I didn't want Chayton getting into it. Merlin knows what you keep in there." He waved his hand for her to follow him, making his way into the large hallway.

Hermione rolled her eyes as she tagged along behind him. He was even arrogant when he walked! Straightening her posture, the brunette did her best to imitate his stride, lifting her head high and gliding across the marble. Draco must have noticed the change in the rhythm, for he stopped walking, Hermione colliding with his back at the sudden halt. She brushed herself off, backing away. "This is splendid. Now I'll be covered in Malfoy germs for weeks." She stuck out her tongue to prove her disgust, her hands still coursing violently across her front.

Draco snorted, "well. Perhaps I should just hang on to your purse for a while? Wouldn't want it to become tainted, would we?" His sarcasm was beyond obvious as he continued forward, taking the journalist further into the depths of Malfoy Manor.

Hermione's eyes roamed across the decorations, her eyebrow lifting. "Well, it's certainly interesting to know that you still have house pride, Malfoy. Although, it is quite drab with all of this silver, black and green lying around. You **do** have other colors somewhere, don't you?" Feeling slightly out of place, one side of her upper lip curled as she sidestepped around a misplaced pillar.

"To be honest, all of the guest rooms are done in different colors." He paused, turning toward a cabinet with a lock upon it. Withdrawing his wand, he muttered a simple spell, "Alohomora." The lock popped open, Draco removing it swiftly. Reaching inside of the cabinet, he withdrew Hermione's purse and handed it to her. "I wanted to be sure it was out of reach of the toddler, you see. I hope it's not too infected." A snarl was visible on his features as he swept passed her, his shoulder colliding with hers.

Hermione rolled her eyes as she followed behind him, sliding her purse to her elbow. "Was that really necessary, Malfoy? We've already come in contact with one another today. You didn't need to push it."

Draco rounded on her, his hands gripping her shoulders. Hermione's eyes went wide, her arms dropping to her side, purse colliding with the floor. "Do you think I enjoy having you here, in my home? You're constantly spitting out snide remarks and it's beginning to get on my nerves." He released her, his calm demeanor returning, "besides, if you weren't in the way all of the time, I wouldn't find it necessary to run into you. It's not my fault if you don't know how to move." He was flashing her another smirk, turning away from her and heading in the direction he'd just been headed.

Hermione's eyes narrowed as she watched his figure strut away from her. "I'm getting tired of your attitude, Dra-Malfoy." She snapped her mouth shut, her hand raising as her eyes widened.

Pausing, Draco ran a hand through his hair, his back still toward her. "You almost called me by my first name." He turned to look at her, crossing his arms across his chest, "I didn't know we were on a first-name basis, **Hermione**." He spat out her name, like it was some kind of foul-tasting first-course.

"I didn't either, Malfoy." She was seriously confused, her head shaking back and forth as she took a few hesitant steps forward, wondering if she should even bother arguing with him. "It just . . . Slipped. You don't have to be so bloody rude about it. Everyone makes mistakes. Even you." Where was her supply of witty retorts when she needed it? She turned, scooping her purse off of the floor before she continued forward, edging around him easily.

His hand darted out, taking hold of her wrist as she attempted to slip passed. "You think that you can get away with things that easily, Granger?" Before Hermione knew it, her back was pinned against the wall, arms crushed to her sides. Draco's mouth was **far** too close to her own, as far as she was concerned. "There's only one way that a woman gets to call me by my first name, Granger. I doubt you'd want to go through such a ritual." His mouth was pressed against hers before either one knew what was happening, Hermione trying to back away from him, succeeding in nothing more than crushing her back against the wall. Suddenly, Draco seemed to snap back to reality, shoving off of the wall and glaring at Hermione like she'd cast some sort of deadly curse on him. "Get out," was all he said as he pointed toward the exit, his head turning away from her. Hermione gladly obliged.

-;-;-;

She was quite comfortable laying in bed, her eyes closed and her muscles relaxed. Yet, her mind was working at top-speed and she couldn't seem to fall asleep. For some god-awful reason, Hermione Granger couldn't get a certain Slytherin out of her thoughts.

Groaning in frustration, she sat up, tossing the covers off of her bare legs as she made her way out of her bedroom. Her house was cold, as she was dressed in a simple pair of shorts and a tank top. Approaching her desk, she scribbled down a quick note before making her way to Aragorn's perch. He'd already completed his hunting, which made Hermione quite glad that he didn't stay out all night. "Take this to Ronald Weasley." The black owl hooted, taking the parchment in his beak and flying out the window.

About thirty minutes later, her fireplace glowed with a familiar green tinge, her best friend falling onto the floor. "After all these years, you'd think I'd be used to flooing." He pushed himself up, casting a quick cleaning spell before joining Hermione on the couch. "Now . . . What the bloody Hell is so important that you had to make me come over at three o'clock in the morning, 'Mione?"

Hermione smiled weakly, cradling her cup of tea in her hands as she drew her legs up in front of her. "Something happened today, while I was at Malfoy's, and I'm not sure what to do about it."

Ron's face reddened enough that it almost matched his hair, "what did he do to you, 'Mione? If he hurt you, I'll kill him. I'll go over right now, I swear it. Bloody prat deserves nothing less than death, anyway. Should have been convicted when they had him."

"Stop rambling, Ron." She held up her hand, resting it gently on his shoulder. "They couldn't convict him because he was our anonymous source. Anyway, that's not what I called you here for. And I sure as Hell didn't call you here to go murder my job." She offered him a smile before scooting closer to him, her head resting against his shoulder. "I just want someone to stay with me for the night. Someone to joke with for a little while. And Merlin knows I wouldn't bother Harry at three o'clock. I don't want to know how late he and Ginny stay up."

Ron shoved Hermione off of his shoulder, glaring at her, "that's my sister, Hermione!" The brunette smirked, wrinkling her nose at his reaction. "Fine. I'll stay. Just don't talk about Ginny like that anymore."

"Yes, sir," she joked, taking a sip of tea as she glanced at him. "Sometimes I miss how you were before the war. But, other times, I'm glad that you've grown up." She shifted away from him as he half-heartedly swung at her, a grin on his face. "If you would have remained the same through out all of that, I would have wondered about your sanity. That, and I would have been too terrified to lose my virginity to you." She released a gentle laugh as she thought about how it could have been. "I can just imagine how it would have been. We would've found something to argue over and never gotten around to it." She cuddled close to him again, smiling contently as she nuzzled his shoulder. "I'm glad to have you as a friend, Ronald Weasley."

Ron smiled, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. "Same here, 'Mione. I think it would've been weird if we were ever in a romantic relationship. We'd do the whole 'break up, get back together' thing. You're still attractive when you're angry, ya know." That earned him a solid smack on the leg, which he had to rub with his hand to ease the pain.

"You're impossible, Ron. I'm going to bed." She rose from the couch, tossing back the rest of her tea before she stretched and made her way to the kitchen. After placing the cup in the sink, she turned around to collide into her best friend, knocking her clean on her butt. She shot a glare up at him.

Ron simply chuckled, smiling as he offered her a hand to help her up. "Am I coming with you, or am I banished to the guest bedroom as usual?"

Hermione squeezed passed him, lifting an eyebrow as she strode to her room. "That, Mr. Weasley, is entirely up to you." Ron watched her for only a moment before tagging along behind her, feeling the unnecessary want to shut the bedroom door behind him.

-;-;-;

Hermione woke slowly, a gentle yawn escaping her mouth as she rolled to her other side, her arm coming to rest across the fleshy abdomen of another being. A smirk tilted her lips as she remembered the night before, as well as Ron's version of 'consolation.' Her eyes still closed, she swirled her fingers against his stomach, her eyelids finally fluttering open to glance at him. Yet, when her eyes opened, she gasped, scooting away and rolling out of bed. She landed with a 'thump' onto the ground of her apartment. Peeking over the mattress, chocolate eyes focused on the blond figure in her bed. Her knuckles rubbed against her eyelids, as if she were expecting the vision to change. It didn't.

The figure began to stir, blue-gray eyes flashing open to land on the curious form of Hermione's head peaking over the quilts. A smile made itself visible on Draco's face. "Morning, love."

Hermione sprung awake, sitting straight up in bed, the blankets clutched to her chest. With a heavy sigh, she turned to see Ron still passed out beside her. "Thank Merlin it was only a dream." She laid back down upon the pillow, turning slightly to rest her arm across Ron's chest. She snuggled against his warmth, remembering the first and only other time they'd ever engaged in sexual activities. Hopefully, she wouldn't make a habit of this.

-;-;-;

Several hours later, Hermione was yawning happily, sprawled out across the couch in Draco's library. She'd arrived while Draco was involved in some sort of meeting and simply made herself comfortable with a book.

After the occurrences between them yesterday, Hermione decided that she was going to avoid arguing with Draco at all costs. Especially after what Ron had told her the night before. Although she doubted that Malfoy ever found her attractive, she would still play it safe.

She heard yelling from the hallway, snapping her book shut as she realized it was growing closer. Rising from the couch, her eyebrows lifted when Draco burst into the library, an angry-looking Daphne Greengrass trailing behind him. "Draco! You promised me! You promised **Pansy**!" Her voice was pleading, although there was a hint of a demand there as well.

Hermione had to stifle a laugh. She couldn't remember ever seeing Draco this mad. And for once, it wasn't with her. She found herself cringing when he rounded on Daphne, his voice forceful. "I didn't promise either one of you anything, do you understand? I simply said that it was an option. I now realize that it is not. If you will excuse yourself, I have other business to attend to." He turned around, plastering a welcoming smile on his face as he approached the couch. "Miss Granger. It's such a **pleasure** to see you again."

Hermione's eyebrows raised before she finally caught on. "Of course, Mister Malfoy. Now, if you would kindly take a seat, I would like to sort out the arrangements for your up-coming marriage." Her voice dripped with honey as her eyes trailed to the insulted-looking woman by the door. With an angry grunt, Daphne turned on her heel and stormed from the room, slamming the door behind her.

Draco eyed Hermione suspiciously, an eyebrow raising. "I'm surprised that you actually helped me out of that. I offer my thanks." He strode to his chair, seating himself elegantly.

"Just because I don't like you, doesn't mean that I'm going to make you suffer. Besides, your suffering is my job, not Greengrass's." She offered him an innocent smile as she sat upon the couch cushions, leaning forward to grasp her purse and withdraw her quill. The piece of parchment she'd used yesterday was quickly revealed as well. "If you wouldn't mind my asking, are you involved with her in any way? I'll need to know, so I can halt any and all writings on your status." Her voice, for once, was polite.

Draco took her tone as an insult, assuming that she was trying to irritate him with pleasantries. Brow furrowing, he sent her a glare. "Do not even begin to think, Granger, that because of what happened yesterday I will be any nicer in the future. It was a mistake. It will **not** happen again, do I make myself clear?" Hermione nodded, not bothered in the least about his comment. "There is nothing occurring between myself and Daphne. Pansy informed her that she would be next in line to be my wife, if something ever happened between us. Thus the argument."

Hermione's eyebrows raised, a grin tugging her lips. "Daphne, hm? Was it not just yesterday that you informed me of this fact," she glanced down at her parchment, where she'd recorded his words shortly after she'd climbed back into the carriage. "Ah yes, here it is. 'There's only one way that a woman gets to call me by my first name, Granger. I doubt you'd want to go through such a ritual.' Naturally, I would assume that something **is** happening between you and **Daphne**. You're not lying to me, are you, Malfoy?"

Draco rolled his eyes, releasing a frustrated sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I doubt you will ever change, Granger. Still sharp as a tack." He seemed to realize that he'd just given her a compliment, snarling at her before he continued, "Daphne and I have shared certain . . . Relations. But then again, who haven't I slept with in Slytherin house?" That famous smirk made itself known once again and Hermione had to keep herself from throwing something at him.

"Then again, who haven't you slept with in all of Hogwarts?" She was fully grinning now, her quill scribbling furiously. She was fidgeting with her skirt hem again, one arm lifting to twirl a strand of hair.

"Excluding the male population, I would have to say . . . Everyone. Save the Slytherin girls, of course. I was never attracted to anyone from other houses." His eyes focused on the quill as it hung in mid-air, parchment floating below it. "Are you recording my sex life for personal gain, Granger?"

This comment caused Hermione to glance at her quill, rolling her eyes, "I told you it records everything." She snatched it from thin air, pulling the parchment along with it. She scratched out the unnecessary topics by hand before releasing both to return to their duties.

"No witty comment? No sarcastic remark? Are you feeling all right, Granger?" His eyebrows were raised as he watched her closely, her legs crossing in a jumpy fashion.

"I'm fine, Malfoy. Just, not much in the mood for conversation." She snatched the quill , tucking it into her purse along with the parchment. "I think this may have to be continued tomorrow." She rose, turning to leave.

"What does? You didn't even begin with a professional interview today. It was all personal information that you felt like nosing your way into." He stood, striding to stop her. "What the Hell is wrong with you today?" His hand took hold of her wrist.

"I'm just bloody confused, Draco! Ever since yesterday, I don't know what to think! Let me fucking leave! And don't expect me to come back!" She yanked her arm away from a shocked Malfoy, striding out of the house and into the carriage. As soon as she was seated comfortably, she dropped her head into her hands. "Merlin . . . I can't like Malfoy . . . Can I?"

_**A/N: **_Simply updating.


	5. Seeking Assistance

_**Summary: **__Hermione Granger is a writer for _Witch Weekly_, and she's just been assigned a new story. Draco Malfoy. He's recently become a widower, and is now Wizarding London's most eligible bachelor. With her frequent visits for interviews, will something blossom between the two? Or will Hermione simply be forced to watch her twenty-three year old enemy care for his son on his own?_

_**Disclaimer:**_You should know the answer to this one.

_**Interview for Life**_

**Chapter five: **_Seeking Assistance_

It had been an entire week since Hermione had stormed out of Draco's house and, at the current moment, she was hunched over a pile of used parchment. The few notes she'd taken during the interviews were obviously not enough to create a story with, as she'd been trying for the passed seven days. Anything to keep her from going back to that **wretched** manor.

Picking up her quill, she snagged another piece of empty parchment, scribbling down several lines before she realized that someone was standing in her office doorway. Rolling her eyes, she spoke more to her writing than the intruder. "Honestly, Rita, how many times do I have to tell you? I'm not going back to that place. I don't care if I don't have enough information . . . I'll make something up." She went right back to scratching away.

A cold drawl caused her to look up, only to cast her eyes on a very leisurely looking Draco Malfoy, who was currently leaning his shoulder against her door jam. "I had a feeling that you wouldn't be able to complete your interviews without my help. Ms. Skeeter showed me up." And then, with the audacity of a Malfoy, he waltzed right into her office and seated himself in the chair opposite her own.

Now she was irritated beyond belief. Only yesterday Rita had informed her that if she didn't come up with something for the story, she would be let go. Now, she had to deal with Malfoy coming to her work place. "It must be a cold day in Hell, if you came to help me. And here I was hoping that I would be fired so someone else could go to your home and pester you about information. Perhaps they would treat it with a more professional manner, hm?" She was angry with him; save she didn't have a clue as to why.

Draco offered her a smirk, tilting his head slightly as she ranted. "I didn't come to help so much as make sure the story was correct. I believe I heard you right when you said you would 'make something up'?" He shifted slightly, tugging his robes across his chest in an eloquent way.

Hermione's upper lip curled slightly as she eyed him, the familiar hate and loathing that she felt for him returning in that instant. "Perhaps if you leave, I'll think about continuing your interviews, **Malfoy**. For now, I just want you out of my office." She ignored him then, returning to her parchment and scribbling unnecessarily.

Listening for once, Draco rose from the chair and sauntered to the doorway, pausing with his hand on the doorknob. "You can be quite attractive when you're angry, you know." He smirked, slamming the door just in time to cut off her angry protest and block whatever it was she'd thrown.

-;-;-;

Hermione was in no mood for a carriage ride that day, so now she paced the floor of her living room, awaiting the return of her owl. She had sent Draco a message requesting that she be allowed to floo, as the day was growing old.

Hearing the familiar rustle of feathers, she halted to watch the black bird of prey swoop in through the window, landing on its perch before tilting its head. The crested envelope looked too large even for Aragorn to carry.

Hermione took the patterned paper into her hand, snarling slightly at the melted wax seal with a very fancy 'M' pushed into it. Placing her thumbnail beneath the green wax, she popped the envelope open, wondering if locating the stationary was what took so long. Withdrawing the letter, she noticed that across the top of the paper was Draco's horrid last name. Rolling her eyes at his ability to flaunt everything, she continued on to read the contents of the letter, her eyes roaming across the fancy calligraphy. _Merlin, he writes like a girl!_ She had to stifle her laughter as she glanced upon the elegant, flourished handwriting. With a smirk worthy of Draco himself, she discarded the letter before gathering her things. Taking hold of a bit of green powder, she tossed it into the flames, waited for them to turn green and stepped inside. Her voice sounded foreign when she shouted, "Malfoy Manor!"

Now she remembered why she hated traveling by floo, her stomach churning as her feet finally hit the grate on the other side. Wobbling slightly, she took a few steps forward onto the cement surrounding the hearth, her eyes roaming across the room. Pulling her wand from her purse, she muttered a quick, "scourgify," before glancing around curiously.

_This must be the study that I've been declined to visit, _was the thought that coursed through her mind just before the door opened. In walked Malfoy, his son tagging along to his left and slightly behind, appearing just as regal as his father. Hermione rolled her eyes at the sight. "Well, it's obvious who owns the place. Are we moving into the library? Or would you like me to go on ahead and meet up with you later?" Her lips pursed in an irritated manner, her left eyebrow lifting just slightly to show her frustration.

Draco flashed her a second-lasting smile before responding, "you may continue to the library. I simply have to grab something for Chayton and then I'll be on my way." He waved his hand to signal that she should leave, which Hermione almost didn't obey. Yet, seeing the waiting look on his face, she jutted her chin out, lifted her head high and strode from the room.

-;-;-;

Hermione was just beginning to believe that they'd had to **hunt** for whatever it was Chayton needed when she heard the gentle sound of the door opening and closing. Draco made himself known seconds later when he seated himself in his usual armchair, shaking his head. "He just **had** to have his toy wand. Now he'll be running about the house, pointing at the elves and shooting sparks at them." He chuckled at this, pinching the bridge of his nose before looking at Hermione. "What form of interrogation are we going through today, hm? Hopefully we can leave my sex life in the passed?" His lips tilted into a devious smirk as he placed his arms upon the chair's rests.

Hermione huffed slightly before withdrawing her Quick Quotes Quill, flicking her wand for a fresh piece of parchment. The two objects floated happily in the air while she delicately placed her wand in her lap. "Actually, I was hoping that we could talk about Chayton's mother. A name of sorts would be nice. Or, why don't you answer this question, did we go to school with her?" She was quirking an eyebrow defiantly, knowing full well that this topic would get on his nerves.

And it did. He let out a growl-like sound, his eyes narrowing to send her the most dangerous glare she'd ever witnessed from a Malfoy. "I've told you before that I do not want anyone to know about this little mistake. Yet, you still push for information. I don't know what kind of report you're trying to create for yourself, but I'm here today specifically for an interview with _Witch Weekly_'s writer. Thus, nothing too personal should be discussed. I do not wish to divulge such information as the name, race, religion, age, or education of the woman in question. Do I make myself clear?"

Hermione smirked, "crystal." For once, she didn't take hold of her quill to scratch things off. Instead, she simply continued onward, "was it Greengrass? Is that why she said you made a promise to her? It's perfectly understandable, you know. Perhaps it was someone from a different house? Are you ashamed of whom you slept with? Is that why you refuse to talk about it?" She was enjoying this far too much as she rose from the couch to pace in front of it, her index finger against her chin in thought, wand in her other hand. Heels clicking against the marble, she turned to face him, halting. "It must be someone from Gryffindor, if you're so apt to not speak about it. Either that or I should go with my first assumption: she was muggle-born."

Although Draco's eyebrow quirked slightly, he gave no clue as to which of the following Chayton's mother actually was. He rose from his chair, striding to stand a mere two inches from her. Hermione found herself shrinking back for fear that the slightest movement would cause her to touch him. "I'm surprised that you put so much thought into this, Granger. It fascinates me how many ideas you've come up with, despite the fact that I have informed you—repeatedly—of my wishes not to speak about it. I have my own question for you," Hermione nodded to prove she was listening, "do you have a death wish, Mudblood?" His eyes widened when he realized what he'd said, and he turned away from her, his cloak billowing in response to the sudden movement. "Erase that from your notes. Now."

Hermione did as she was instructed, snatching quill and parchment from the air to scribble out the word he so obviously hadn't meant to say. When she released the items, they continued to scribble about the page, logging her conversation. "Why the sudden change of heart, Malfoy? Now that dear old dad's gone, you decide that you don't like to refer to the '**lower** breed' in such a despicable manner? Well, I do have to admit that I'm surprised. I never thought you capable of such . . . Fairness." Smirking, her arms wove themselves together across her chest, one leg relaxing in a triumphant stance. It was as if she was saying, 'debate. I dare you.'

He did, all too soon. He was so close that Hermione could feel his breath against her neck, his lips moving against her ear as he warned her. "I want you out. I do not want to hear from you for the rest of the night." His hand had apparently been resting on her forearm as it trailed its way upward across her biceps and shoulder. Before she knew it, his fingers were buried in her hair, pulling her head to the side. "If you come by tomorrow, and ask me anymore questions about my choice of words—or women—I will make sure that your death wish is fulfilled. Understand?" Hermione would have nodded had she not been restrained, and she could have sworn that she felt soft lips press against her pulse point. Yet, in a flash, he was standing at least two feet away from her, her eyes now locked onto his back.

Shoving her things into her purse, she flung the strap over her shoulder while attempting to glare a hole through his cloak. "Do not expect me here tomorrow. I've had previous plans for some time now." She strode toward the library door, opening it and pausing, a wicked grin on her face. She turned to eye Draco, whose back was still to her. Silently locating her wand, she whispered a silent spell, smirking at the bright pink tinge his robes acquired before she dashed toward the front door. "Teach that bloody bastard to mess with me." As she stepped out of the threshold, she could have sworn she heard her name yelled, rather threateningly. Oddest thing was, it wasn't 'Granger' that she'd heard.

-;-;-;

Hermione arrived back at her flat to find Ginny seated on her couch, a bowl of ice cream clutched in her fingers. The redhead flashed a brilliant smile before rising, setting her bowl on the coffee table before dashing toward her best friend and flinging her arms about her neck. Hermione stumbled backwards several steps at the sudden impact, but managed to hold on just long enough that she could wrap her arms about the young Weasley's waist. "Oh Merlin, 'Mione! I've missed you!" Suddenly, Ginny pulled back with a glare so fierce, Hermione would have thought she was related to Malfoy. "What the bloody Hell has been keeping you so busy? You have friends, you know! And you don't even offer me an owl as often as Harry and Ron!" She slapped Hermione on the shoulder, be it rather playfully, before giggling and hugging her again. "Oh! I can't wait for tomorrow!"

Hermione had opened her mouth to speak several times, but couldn't manage to come up with an excuse. Instead, she simply settled for hugging her friend. As soon as Ginny mentioned their plans for the next day, Hermione found herself blurting, "I know, Gin, it will be such a wonderful break from Malfoy. Merlin, that bloody Slytherin is so **confusing**!"

Ginny pulled back, taking a few steps away from Hermione as her eyes widened. "So, what Harry and Ron told me **was** true. You actually have to interview him?" Hermione nodded and Ginny took a small step forward, obviously intrigued. "Is he still an ignorant git?" Another nod on Hermione's end, another step from Ginny. "What about his son?"

At this Hermione had to smile. She made her way to her couch, speaking as she did so. "The cutest little brat I've ever seen. Stubborn and arrogant, just like his father, of course. But, it's amazing how different Dra-Malfoy is when he's around him. They're positively **adorable** when they're together!" Then she froze, practically able to feel Ginny's shocked look. She attempted a weak smile to recover, which turned out as more of an embarrassed grimace, her cheeks turning a rather bright shade of pink.

"Hermione? Did you just almost call Malfoy by his first name?" Hermione nodded. Ginny backed away. "Did you just say he's adorable?" Hermione's head moved, once more, in the positive. Ginny suddenly pounced on the couch, hugging her legs to her chest. "Don't you **dare** tell me that you have a crush on Malfoy; the most obnoxious, self-centered, egotistical prat in wizarding London!"

Hermione rolled her eyes, burying her face in her hands. A muffled, "I don't know what to think anymore, Gin," escaped her lips. Revealing her face, she turned to look at the redhead, "I do know one thing, of course." Ginny's eyes widened in curiosity. "Malfoy is still bloody thrilling to irritate. He's also good for a witty argument, whenever I feel I need one. But, the strangest things have been happening . . ." She trailed off as she recalled the evens that had occurred over her last few interviews.

Ginny was physically prodding her, insisting that she continue. Yet, with a yawn, Hermione rose and waved. "I'm exhausted, Ginny. We'll wake up early and go shopping for your dress. Malfoy knows I'm not going tomorrow." With that, she strode into her room and shut the door, leaving a disappointed Ginny on the couch to pout with her ice cream.

_**A/N:**_ Still updating. STILL no changes.


	6. A Normal Day at the Burrow

_**Summary: **__Hermione Granger is a writer for _Witch Weekly_, and she's just been assigned a new story. Draco Malfoy. He's recently become a widower, and is now Wizarding London's most eligible bachelor. With her frequent visits for interviews, will something blossom between the two? Or will Hermione simply be forced to watch her twenty-three year old enemy care for his son on his own?_

_**Disclaimer:**_Honestly? This is the last time I'm doing this . . . All Harry Potter references belong to J.K. Rowling.

_**Interview for Life**_

**Chapter Six: **_A Normal Day at the Burrow_

Hermione moaned at the sensation of Draco's fingers tickling the inside of her thigh, the amazing sensation inching higher up, her skirt lifting in yield. Her fingers were buried in those glorious blond locks, holding his mouth to her neck as he ravished it with nips and kisses. She shivered at the sensation of his finger toying with the elastic of her underwear, another pleasurable purr forcing itself from her throat. Hermione swore she felt him smirk against her neck before both of her arms were pinned above her head, two of his fingers delving inside of her without second thought. She writhed beneath him, twisting her wrists in a pathetic attempt to free herself. His voice was husky when he spoke, leaning forward to whisper into her ear. "Don't even bother to struggle, you filthy little Mudblood. There's no way I'm letting you go now." And shortly after that harsh comment, Hermione Granger couldn't draw air into her lungs. His hand had released her wrists, covering her mouth and nose at the same time. What little oxygen she could draw inward wasn't helping her stay conscious. She kicked, flailed and scratched at Draco as best she could to pull him off of her, but it was in vain. He refused to give up. She was giving up hope that he'd release her, caramel eyes rolling backward into her skull, muscles going slack as she began to slip out of reality, her kicking no more than worthless twitches.

As Hermione bolted upright in bed, she could have sworn she heard Draco cackling in her mind. Yet, when she glanced around the room, she realized that it was simply Ginny, staring at her with wide eyes. Scratches decorated the redhead's arms, a pillow clutched tightly to her chest. "Merlin's sake, 'Mione. You were bloody moaning, so I threw a pillow over your face to shut you up! Then, you started flailing about, scratching and kicking . . . I didn't know what to do! What the Hell is wrong with you?"

Hermione's face was positively blank as she raised a hand to her forehead, bent fingers brushing haphazard curls away from her skin. "I honestly don't know, Ginny. I've just been having the most realistic dreams lately." Her eyes trailed to the clock beside her bed, eyeing it carefully before she kicked off the covers and slid out of bed. The cold air was a shock to her and she stretched her arms above her head, hoping the blood would begin to pump and warm her up. "I suppose we'd best get ready to go, Ginny. It's already nine o'clock. We should have been up **hours** ago!"

Turning around to glance at her friend, she swore that the young Weasley looked more shocked than before as she slowly climbed out of bed. "This is bloody early, 'Mione! Then again, you always **have** been a morning person. Had to get all of your studying done before classes, of course! Even **if** you didn't know what chapter you were on." She smirked, diving passed Hermione and into the bathroom, hollering through the door, "I get the shower first!" Hermione simply shrugged, making her way into the kitchen and setting some coffee to start.

-;-;-;

Two hours later Hermione and Ginny were browsing through Twill & Tatting's, (A/N: I do hope that's what it's called!) eyes focused on the glorious fabric that presented itself to them. Hermione fingers were currently admiring the sensation of pure silk, rubbing it between her index and thumb for a moment before she heard Ginny's excited squeal. "Merlin, 'Mione! It's perfect! Come here!" Twirling around, Hermione had to blow her hair from her face to see what Ginny was holding up.

At the blinding gold that hit her eyes, Hermione took the several steps required to stand in front of the amazing gown. "Oh my . . . Ginny, it's perfect. Try it on! You won't know until you try it." Hermione sounded giddier than she had in quite some time and she shook her head at the action before shoving Ginny toward the dressing room. "Don't forget that we still have bride's maids colors to pick out!" She heard the rustling of Ginny changing and went about to browse through more racks, her eyes landing one a brilliant maroon article. "How much did Harry give you for the purchasing today?" By that time, Hermione was no longer paying attention to her friend; her hand had somehow grasped hold of the hanger, pulling it free from the rest of the dresses to get a full look at it. A gasp freed itself from her lips at the glorious gown she held before her, Ginny approaching silently to stand behind her.

"Gold and maroon will work just fine, I think." Hermione whipped around to eye her friend, who looked absolutely smashing in the strapless wedding dress. The corset-like top accentuated her figure, the v-line at her waist pluming into a glorious skirt. "Now, off you go! Try that one on while I change back into my clothes." Ginny was dragging Hermione with her to the dressing rooms, shoving her into the empty one just beside her own. "I want to see it!"

Hermione rolled her eyes as she changed, tugging on the expensive gown before reaching around behind her to do up the zipper. Examining herself in the mirror, she sighed happily before a knock on the door threw her into her senses. Smiling and shaking her head at this dreamy nonsense, she opened the door and stepped out into the shop, laughing at the look on Ginny's face. "Oh bloody Hell, Ginny. Someone will think you've never played dress-up with the look on your face." This caused Ginny to give her a more curious stare, Hermione waving her hand in dismissal. "Never you mind, then. I'll explain it later."

A calm whistle caused Hermione's head to whip about, her eyes landing on Draco as he leaned against the purchase counter. "Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in. I never thought the Weaselette would have enough money to shop here. Nor you, Granger. I must admit, of course, that maroon is **definitely** your color. It rather highlights the color of your neck." He was smirking as the woman handed him a bag, Chayton playfully tugging at his father's robes.

Hermione's fists were clenched, eyes narrowed. "So help me, Malfoy, if I weren't in this dress, I'd—"

"You'd what, Granger? **Attempt** to beat me to a bloody pulp? Or would you sink low enough to hex me, like we did in school?" His right eyebrow quirked smugly, his lips still tilted with arrogance.

"You may be in a dress, 'Mione, but I'm not." And so help her, Ginny Weasley stalked right up to Draco and decked him square in the nose. Hermione heard the crunching sound of bones breaking from where she stood. Ginny was slapping her hands together as if they'd acquired some form of dirt, a triumphant smile splitting her face as she walked back to Hermione. "You might want to change. I have a feeling that we're going to be kicked out of here if we don't buy something soon." Hermione nodded her agreement, wanting so badly to spit on Draco as he held that damned handkerchief to his nose. Yet, as she wandered back into the dressing room, she found herself wanting to rush to him . . . Comfort him. Her fist swiftly made contact with the wall. She couldn't **possibly** have feelings like that for the **ferret**!

-;-;-;

Bags at their feet, Hermione and Ginny sat outside of a quaint Muggle café for lunch, happily eating light salads. The breakfast they'd had in Diagon Alley would—more than likely—last a week. Glancing longingly at the sack that held her gown, Hermione chuckled before focusing on Ginny. "You're sure Harry's not going to completely slaughter you for spending your daily allowance? It was, after all, for everything you're buying."

Ginny smirked, chewing the plump tomato she'd just popped into her mouth. She, unlike her brother, had the decency to swallow before she spoke. "He didn't make any specific rules on the money, 'Mione. He said it was for 'shopping on Wednesday.' That could very well be limited to just this day of shopping." The redhead paused, tilting her head slightly as she glanced about her. "You know perfectly well that I'm normally not a big spender, growing up the way I did. But, you looked so **perfect** in that gown! Besides that, you're my maid of honor. You deserve to stand out above the crowd. Right below me, of course." She smirked.

Hermione blushed, still nervous about having to stand on a pedestal beside her best friend. "I don't have to stand out **that** much. The other girls are going to be wearing the same color, after all." Her mind wandered as a pretty little woman strode passed, her head high and her hips swaying. Subconsciously, Hermione narrowed her eyes at the woman, a simple thought coursing through her mind. _Maybe Chayton's mother looks like _that. _I honestly wouldn't be surprised, knowing Malfoy._

Ginny snapped her fingers in front of her face, "honestly, 'Mione, you need to remember how to focus! Ever since this new job of yours, you've been constantly daydreaming. Is he really that amazing in bed?"

Hermione's eyes widened as she smacked Ginny on the shoulder. "Ginevra Weasley! How dare you! You know perfectly well that I would never be daft enough to sleep with Draco Malfoy! Merlin knows what kind of diseases he carries." They shared a laugh over this before chatting about Ginny's 'good hit' in Twill & Tatting's. Shortly after, they decided to call it a day and head to the Burrow, where further wedding plans were being devised.

-;-;-;

The moment Hermione stepped out of the fireplace, she was engulfed in a bone-crushing hug, her squished face automatically mumbling, "hello Molly." The plump woman held her out at arm's length, her eyes browsing across her adopted daughter. "It's good to see that you're doing well, Molly. Are we the first to arrive?"

Molly chirped, a small tear rolling down her cheek before she pulled Hermione into another hug. "Oh, Hermione, dear! It's been too long! Look at you," out at arm's length again, "you're absolutely **starved**! Nothing but skin and bone! Come on, then, I've just whipped up a healthy lunch for everyone." She turned away, pausing at the staircase and shouting up its length, "Boys! Hermione and Ginny are here!"

The thumping that signaled Fred and George were visiting met Hermione's ears as the boys came plummeting down the stairs, pushing and shoving as siblings often did. She was practically tugged in two directions when they got to her, the twins finally compromising and hugging her together. She let out a hearty laugh as she wrapped an arm about each neck, trying desperately not to laugh at their phrases. "Heavens, 'Mione. Look at you!" This, of course, was George.

"Oh yes," Fred stepped back to examine her, flashing a lopsided smile, "certainly grown,"

"Haven't you?" George finished his sentence, stepping back to stand beside his brother. "How long has it been,"

"Since we last saw you? In fact,"

"Now that I think about it,"

"You never come by the shop anymore." Both of them looked rather upset by this, but were quickly shoved out of the way by Ron, who yanked Hermione into her fourth hug for the day.

She coughed, shoving her friend off of her, "honestly! If I'm smothered anymore today, I'll hex you all!" Her voice was cheerful, not a threatening tone in it. She was just about to believe that she was finished with all of this hugging nonsense when Ron attacked her again.

He stepped back, ducking as she swung at him, "just testing the waters, 'Mione." He winked at her before heading into the kitchen and sitting at the table, arms crossing and resting on the wooden surface. Hermione quickly followed suit, somehow managing to be wedged between Fred and George who were currently plotting some 'shrinkable sweater' idea. Her eyebrows lifted curiously, but before she could ask what they were talking about, she thought better of it. Merlin knows that she would be involuntarily volunteered to be their newest test subject. When it came to things like 'shrinking sweaters,' Hermione Granger preferred to stay out of it.

-;-;-;

Lunch was splendid and now everyone was seated about in random places. The twins were still at the dinner table, scribbling away on a piece of parchment; their heads huddled together in thought. Ron was sprawled across one of the armchairs, his hand on his stomach to prove that—for once—he'd eaten too much. Ginny was writing up an order of sorts for several shops, requesting what she needed for the wedding. Molly was cleaning up in the kitchen, clearly frustrated with the fact that she'd allowed it to become such a mess.

Hermione was happily seated on the floor, her back against the couch as she daydreamed some more. She was just getting to some amazing part where she won some award for creating a new spell when the hearth flamed green and Harry stepped into the room. She rose to move, hoping he would take the seat beside Ginny. Yet, as soon as she was on her feet, he pulled her into a soot-covered hug. She pushed him away, shaking her head as she dusted off her shirt. "I honestly thought that I was done with hugging for today! Really, Harry! You only saw me a week ago!"

Harry was blushing as he sat beside Ginny, his arm lifting to run nervous fingers through his hair. "Sorry, 'Mione. We just . . . We don't get to see you often around here. You're so bloody busy with work, that it's a nice change to get a hug every once in a while. Merlin knows when we'll see you again. Before the wedding, of course." At the mention of this finality, his fingers found Ginny's and she turned her face up to place a sweet kiss on her fiancé's lips. This forced Hermione back into thoughts about Malfoy—as well as the kiss that they'd shared.

She was quickly sprung back out of her thoughts when Fred and George took hold of her elbows, dragging her to the dining table. Horror-stricken, Hermione cast a 'help me' glance at Ginny, Ron and Harry. Ron shrugged his shoulders, "you shouldn't have said yes if you didn't want to help."

_Curse my bloody daydreams!_ She was screaming at herself inside her head, her legs pumping viciously to signal she wanted release. The twins seemed completely ignorant. They sat her in a chair between the two of them, smirking wickedly as they shoved the paper in front of her. George was the first to speak, "this, of course,"

"Is payback," damn Fred,

"For that time in fifth year,"

"When you threatened to write home to mum." With those words, Fred restrained her, George tugging a famous Molly-made sweatshirt over her head.

"Honestly, boys, this is ridiculous! That was **years** ago! You can't possibly hold a grudge for that long, can you?" She sounded hopeful. The twins simply responded with simultaneous nods before grabbing a small glass of water and tossing a few drops onto the sweatshirt. Immediately, the fabric began to shrink against her torso, pausing when it decided it was showing off her figure nicely. "Now! This has gone far enough! I won't be able to get this blasted thing off if you—" more water and the sweatshirt shrunk to just below her bust. Thankfully, her shirt didn't follow along with it. Somehow, she managed to snag the glass of water from George, dousing him in it before screeching and dashing toward Ron, who shook his head and held up his hands to show he wouldn't help her. Hermione simply compensated by diving behind Harry and Ginny, rolling into a ball between them.

Ginny's voice was harsh when she spoke to her older brothers, her wand drawn as she rose from the couch. "Now, Gred, Forge! You stop that this instant, or so help me, I'll send a Bat-Bogey hex your way!" The twins cringed and shivered in mock horror before she finally tossed it at them. She then seated herself casually on the couch, bouncing slightly with silent laughter.

Hermione shook her head, trying desperately to get the tiny sweatshirt off. Giving up with a huff, she came to the startling revelation that it would **never** be a normal day at the burrow.

_**A/N: **_Updating.


	7. How Much Love

_**Summary: **__Hermione Granger is a writer for _Witch Weekly_, and she's just been assigned a new story. Draco Malfoy. He's recently become a widower, and is now Wizarding London's most eligible bachelor. With her frequent visits for interviews, will something blossom between the two? Or will Hermione simply be forced to watch her twenty-three year old enemy care for his son on his own?_

_**Interview for Life**_

**Chapter Seven: **_How Much Love_

Hermione woke with a pounding headache; her eyes squeezed tight against the sun as it attempted to filter through her curtains. Reaching to her bedside table, she managed to take hold of her wand, placing the tip to her temple and muttering a simple incantation. Within seconds, the pain behind her eyes lessened and she was able to sit up. Rolling her eyes at her duties for the day, she climbed out of bed and headed for the bathroom. She was beginning to really hate her job.

-;-;-;

Stepping up to the door of Malfoy Manor, Hermione dusted off her skirt, eyes focused on the knocker in front of her. Did she really want to deal with him today? Her hand lifted of its own accord and, before she knew it, the door was being pulled open. Mipsy looked up at her with wide eyes before leading her toward the large staircase. "If missus waits here, Mipsy will fetch master." Hermione nodded her understanding, the house-elf disappearing with a 'crack.'

Busying herself with pieces of lint that had stuck themselves to the black pleats, she didn't notice the return of Mipsy until the kind creature cleared her little throat. "Master Malfoy says for missus to wait in library." As Mipsy walked passed, Hermione could have sworn she heard, "Master is fixing his nose." But, knowing perfectly well that house-elves couldn't speak about such things, she simply shrugged it off and followed.

-;-;-;

Her fingers were pressed to her temples, rubbing in circles to relieve the headache that so desperately wished to return. She was so focused on it, that she didn't notice Draco waltz into the room and seat himself. At least, not until she heard his voice plummet through her thoughts. "What were you doing in Twill & Tatting's yesterday? With the Weaselette, none-the-less?" His voice was cold and slightly nasally, yet when Hermione rolled her head to the side to survey him, she didn't see any sign that his nose had ever been broken. Rolling her eyes, she thought to herself, _magic does such __**wondrous**__ things._

"Why, Malfoy, did you miss me?" She righted herself, swinging her legs over the side of the couch so she could look into his eyes as she spoke. Going about her daily routine, the Quick Quotes Quill and parchment were withdrawn from her purse, her wand resting on the cushion beside her. It was after several moments of Draco not answering her question that she finally quirked an eyebrow. He raised both of his in return before Hermione shrugged and decided to go on with the rest of her questions. "You seem to be quite happy here, Malfoy. Is there any particular reason why you're looking for a wife?" Her voice was civil and polite, which nearly startled her after the Slytherin's rude actions in the shop yesterday.

She was just beginning to believe that she was going insane when Draco began to speak. "To be honest, Granger, this is more for my son's benefit than my own." Hermione would have believed him, had he not suddenly shifted his eyesight away from her. There was something there that he refused to show, and it was beginning to get on Hermione's nerves. Her mouth dropped open to speak and Draco held up a hand to silence her. "But, if you absolutely must know the truth, it is for my own reasons, as well." He paused, his lips slimming slightly as he tried to figure the best phrase. "Pansy and I never really loved each other. It was an arranged marriage; we knew it to be, so we simply looked upon each other as if . . . Well, I looked at her as if she was the last step to my greatness. I suppose she looked at me differently, but we'll never know the truth in that."

Hermione drew her wand into her lap, rolling it in her fingertips as she listened to him. "Honestly, from knowing Pansy in school, it seemed that she was head-over-heels for you. Of course, all of us Gryffindors thought itt was because you were—" she froze.

"Good in bed?" He was smirking and Hermione offered a timid nod. "Whatever the case was, neither of us ever got to experience an emotion we'd heard so much about. That is precisely why I'm looking for a wife." He paused to let this sink in, Hermione's teeth worrying her lower lip as she thought, her eyes narrowed. Draco chuckled slightly at the image before continuing, "I want to find a woman who's compatible with me. More over, I want to know if I'm capable of loving someone other than my son." His eyes were downcast, glaring at the floor as if the expensive marble was the cause of all his grief.

Hermione was stunned with this sudden flush of information; a new side to the **cruel** Draco Malfoy. The corners of her lips turned up into a smile, before she caught something he forgot to mention. "What about your parents, Malfoy? Didn't you love them, as well?"

Draco's eyes were suddenly nothing more than hard malice, ripping into her mind as they made contact with her own. She recoiled against the couch at his sudden change in attitude, her back pressing deep into the cushions. He was on his feet and pacing, inching further toward her with each zigzagging stride. "How **dare** you mention my parents, Granger! I loved them, true, but only for that short period of time when every child is innocent enough to love everything. Bloody Hell, when I loved them I could have looked at Voldemort adoringly." He paused, realizing he was going soft again and he rounded on Hermione, placing his hands on either side of her head, palms against the couch cushions. "If you **ever** ask about my parents again, I'll **personally** make sure you never come back here."

Hermione smiled at this statement, her right hand lifting to place her palm against his cheek. "Such empty threats, Draco." Then, she reeled back her hand and slapped him hard across the face. His own hand trailed to the red mark on his pale flesh, his eyes wide as if he was still fighting with disbelief.

A snarl curled his lip as Hermione rose to gather her things and before she knew what was happening, he was behind her. His arm coiled itself about her waist, yanking her back flush against his front, his fingers splaying across her abdomen. Had she not been so stunned, perhaps she would have elbowed him in the side, but the sensation of his free hand tugging her hair from her face made her shiver against him. His lips were upon her flesh, his teeth grazing slightly before he nipped her—hard. It was all she could do not to scream, his hands creeping to her back to shove her forward, her own palms landing on the couch cushions. Straightening up, she took hold of her purse, snatching her wand from the couch and aiming it at him, "don't you **ever** put your hands on me again, Draco Malfoy." She was backing away from him as he began to cackle, looking too much like his wicked father for her to tolerate.

Before she knew what she was doing, she was already seated in the carriage, her lungs heaving as she attempted to catch her breath. What the blazes made her enjoy that so much? Her hand trailed to her neck, wincing as she felt the welt he'd left with his teeth. Rummaging through the contents of her purse, she managed to locate a small mirror, angling it just right to eye the vicious bruise that was forming. With a foul look on her face, she glared at nothing in particular. She couldn't heal it now . . . She didn't have proper view of it to aim her wand correctly. Her fist was jammed into the seat beside her; the cushions giving way just enough that she felt no pain.

-;-;-;

She apparated directly from the outside of her office building into her living room, rubbing her eyes slightly before she set her purse on the table beside the door. She was about to go change when strong arms wrapped about her middle from behind, red hair visible out of the corner of her eye as Ron leaned forward to press a kiss to her shoulder. She giggled lightly before spinning in his arms and shoving him away. "I need to go to the bathroom, Ronald. Give me a moment." Quickly withdrawing her wand from her purse, she rushed to her bathroom, eyes wide as she looked at herself in the mirror. _Thank Merlin he hadn't kissed the other side!_ Placing the tip of her wand to her skin, she muttered an old incantation, sighing with relief when the wicked mark disappeared. _Yes,_ she thought again, _magic does indeed, do __**wondrous**__ things._

-;-;-;

Hermione woke to the feel of someone's arm about her waist, her eyes rolling at the memory that she was—against her better judgement—making casual sex with Ronald Weasley a habit. She stirred a bit, trying to get out from underneath his possessive arm without waking him and doing so rather easily. Her best friend always **had** been a heavy sleeper. Smirking some, she quickly made her way to the bathroom for a morning shower, decided to set some coffee to start on her way. B-lining out the bedroom door, she padded across her apartment to her kitchen, setting up the coffeepot and clicking the switch to 'on.'

She stood in her kitchen for a moment, trying to remember exactly what had happened when a familiar green glow came from her fireplace. Trying in vain to cover her knickers and bra, her eyes narrowed slightly at the false alarm. Stupid floo-network passersby. Shrugging her shoulders, she headed back into her bedroom to see Ron still sleeping soundly in a tangle of sheets. Stifling a chuckle, her feet automatically carried her into the bathroom for a much-needed hot shower.

-;-;-;

Draco Malfoy woke to the sounds of his son crying in the bedroom next door, his figure automatically jumping out of bed, a startled look on his features. Wand in hand, he rushed to his son's side, beginning to wonder what in Merlin's name could be wrong with the little tyke.

His hand flew out in front of him as he approached the boy's bedroom, twisting the knob violently before he walked into the dark space. A flick of his wand allowed just enough light for Draco to see his son curled up in a ball of sheets, his tear-streaked face pale and sweaty. Malfoy was quickly by Chayton's side, his hand pressed to his forehead. Surely, it was just a common cold, which Draco had learned **many** spells to cure. So, muttering an incantation, he aimed the device at his son, cringing when the boy only screamed louder.

Twenty minutes later, Draco was pacing the bedroom, trying to figure if he'd left any spells out for curing a child's common flu. With an exasperated sigh, he knew what he had to do, although he really **hated** having to call on her for help.

-;-;-;

Hermione stepped out of the bathroom, a towel draped around her torso, soaked hair hanging in gentle ringlets down her back. Tucking a corner of the towel in beside her breast, she made her way to the kitchen to pour herself a cup of coffee, smiling at the fact that the sun had decided to grace the day with its presence. A note on her writing desk caught her attention, as she didn't remember it being there before. Making her way toward it, she craned her neck to glance into her bedroom, realizing that her quilts were set back to normal.

Lifting the parchment to eye-level, Hermione read the brief note that Ron had scribbled, informing her of the fact that he 'couldn't deal with this anymore,' and that 'Malfoy should get his own bloody nurse, with all of the money he has.' Hermione's eyebrows lifted in confusion just as her fireplace crackled to a lively green hue. Out stepped Malfoy, looking rather tousled and worn. "Granger . . . You need to come with me. Now. Chayton's sick and," he hesitated, a snarl tilting his lips as he spat out the end of the phrase, "I need your help."

Hermione felt very self-conscious in that moment, wearing nothing more than a towel, her hand trailing to her wet hair to pull it over her shoulder. "Why would you need my help, Draco? You're a perfectly knowledgeable wizard. What makes you think I would help you after yesterday to begin with?"

Draco froze at her question, his eyes shifting away from her before traveling back. "Because, Granger. You're the only witch who can help. He has a muggle illness." He paused, his eyes as close to pleading as they could be, for a Malfoy. "He's a half-blood." Suddenly, Hermione realized just **how** **much** Draco Malfoy loved his son.

_**A/N: **_Guess what? You're right. Simply updating. Nothing has changed.


	8. A Little Bit of Truth

_**Summary: **__Hermione Granger is a writer for _Witch Weekly_, and she's just been assigned a new story. Draco Malfoy. He's recently become a widower, and is now Wizarding London's most eligible bachelor. With her frequent visits for interviews, will something blossom between the two? Or will Hermione simply be forced to watch her twenty-three year old enemy care for his son on his own?_

_**Interview for Life**_

**Chapter Eight: **_A Little Bit of Truth_

Hermione was allowed enough time to change and grab some things before they flooed to Malfoy Manor. She hurriedly followed behind Draco, who was taking the steps two at a time. When they entered Chayton's room, Mipsy was watching the boy carefully from the floor, her eyes widening when he let out another wail.

Hermione shoved passed Draco and approached the bed, pressing her hand to his forehead. Reaching into the large bag she brought with her, she withdrew an unusual instrument with a metal tip. Draco snarled slightly as he looked down his nose at it. "What the bloody Hell is that?"

Hermione simply held it up, showing that it wasn't harmless, a bored look on her face. "It's called a 'thermometer,' Malfoy. It will register the temperature of his body." Rolling her eyes, she looked to Chayton and smiled, "Chayton, honey, can you open your mouth and put your tongue over this?" The little boy nodded before opening his mouth, tongue pressed to the roof as Hermione inserted the thermometer. "Good. Now, close your mouth, love." The boy followed the instructions and they waited, the tiny instrument finally letting out a high-pitched beeping sound as Hermione took it. "One-hundred one point two," she shook her head before glancing to both Draco and Mipsy. "I'll need washcloths and cold water. Also, bring the boy something to drink, we don't need him getting dehydrated."

Rifling through her bag, she pulled out a tiny bottle labeled 'Children's Tylenol.' Why she had such things, she had no idea. Perhaps for cases like this, even if she wasn't trained in the medical field. Mipsy returned with all she'd asked for, placing them on the nightstand and watching expectantly.

Hermione rubbed Chayton's shoulder for a moment before speaking, "okay, sweetie. Can you sit up?" The boy nodded, although a sign of reluctance flickered through his eyes for a moment. She managed to get him to chew up the cherry-flavored tablet, along with drinking half the glass of water. Several moments later, the boy gave in to exhaustion.

-;-;-;

Hermione was still seated in the boy's room, Draco not far away. They both wanted to be sure that he wouldn't wake and be sick again. Draco had been kind enough to conjure two plush chairs into the room, facing each other slightly while still turned to the bed.

Hermione was beginning to think that she would be completely engulfed by the silence when Malfoy's cold drawl caused her to jump into attention. "Her name was Johanna." Hermione's eyes grew wide. Was he actually divulging information? Willingly?

Unable to resist—although she knew perfectly well who 'Johanna' must be—she wondered aloud. "Whose name?" Her head tilted slightly in thought, her eyes focused intently upon the emotionless visage of Draco Malfoy.

Draco rolled his eyes, smirking slightly, his voice dripping in the familiarity that would always remain to be sarcasm. "The boy's mother, you bloody dolt." He shook his head as he seemed to remember that she was here of her own free will and that he was not in a position to be incredibly rude to her. "We met . . . In a night club in Muggle London." _Well, that seemed rushed. Embarrassed, Malfoy?_ Hermione's mind was racing. "Blaise insisted we try it." He paused as the sleeping form on the bed took in a hi-cupping breath; his face etched with worry before he realized his son was still sleeping peacefully.

Hermione's eyes—which had also averted to the boy at the sound—switched back to Draco, her hand motioning slightly as she spoke. "Go on, then. Johanna, Muggle club, Blaise insisted." She was rivaling his smirk, toying with him.

"I don't need you to remind me where I was, Granger." His voice was harsh and Hermione heard the visible intake of breath signaling a sigh. As he released the air, he turned sleet-gray eyes onto the woman nearby. "Needless to say, both Blaise and I got entirely too drunk. I suppose he ended up taking some girl home, too, but . . . It just—wasn't supposed to happen, dammit!" He rose from his chair, pacing with his fingers pressed to his temples, rubbing in circular motions. "Why the bloody Hell am I telling you this, anyway?" For the first time in his life, Draco revealed an emotion Hermione had never seen on the face of a Malfoy. Confusion.

Hermione shook her head, a slight smile toying with her lips as she glanced down at her lap, fingers steepled in front of her. "Perhaps it's because I'm going to be one of the many people scanning through your bachelorettes for the woman who is best suited for your home? It may be wise for you to inform me of your child's parentage, so I can sort out any women who may cause a problem with that specific thing."

Draco nodded his head, seating himself calmly once more. "She—Johanna—was fine with Pansy and me adopting him. Pansy was absolutely livid with the fact that a Muggle had borne me a child where she could not. She murdered Johanna three days after the boy's birth. No one knew the wiser." He was watching the sleeping boy closely, now; his eyes shielded by years of practice with emotional guards. Although he attempted to hide it, Hermione could tell he was furious. After a moment, his face finally contorted into that usual plain, white mask he was so talented at placing upon his features. "I'm incredibly tired. Haven't slept at all. Watch him while I get some sleep." He rose from his chair, his hand pausing mid-twist upon the doorknob. "If anything happens, do not hesitate to wake me."

Hermione rolled her eyes as the door shut behind him before she stood and stretched, making her way to the boy's bed. "I should have figured that the soft-ness was only for a brief period of time," she was whispering, gently seating herself on the plush mattress of the child's bed. "Of course, there's always an excuse for everything when it comes to your father. I can only hope you don't turn out the same." Brushing back a lock of hair, she smiled some at the realization that this boy was a half-blood. With an adoring smile, Hermione leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to the boy's forehead. Retreating to her chair and relaxing, her eyes slid shut while the rest of her senses tuned entirely onto the boy sleeping only feet away. Should he stir at all, she would be awake in a matter of moments.

-;-;-;

Hermione woke to the sound of shouting as a door slammed against another solid object. A cold voice droned through her senses as she lazily opened her eyes. "The bloody Hell did I tell you Granger? I said keep an eye on him! And I come in here to find you asleep in that blasted chair! Get up," a solid kick to the expensive leather and the brunette was on her feet, her eyes narrowing at Draco. "You can't even watch a child properly, can you? Ridiculous. Sorry excuse for a witch. Get out." Hermione looked entirely shocked, her eyes wide, eyebrows attempting to hide beneath her hair. "I said get **out**!"

Needless to say, Hermione Granger didn't need to be told twice and on her way to the door, she made sure to comment. "See if I ever help you again, Malfoy. Ungrateful prat." Taking hold of her wand and purse, she made her way to the study to floo back to her flat.

-;-;-;

Dusting herself off of unwanted soot, she failed to notice a very unhappy Ronald Weasley seated on her couch. She jumped at the sound of him clearing his throat, her hand lifting to press the palm against her chest. "Merlin, Ron. You scared me!" She flashed him a pleasant smile before setting her purse down on the table beside the door, striding to sit beside him on the couch. She noticed the frustrated look on his face, her eyebrows lifted slightly. "What's wrong, Ron? You look like you just ate an earwax flavored Bertie Bott." She smirked slightly, only long enough for him to glare at her.

"What the bloody Hell did that slimy git want with you this morning? All he said was that he 'wanted to speak with you about the boy' and that it was none of my business." Ron ran his fingers through his hair, his face turning slightly red with pent-up anger. "Like Hell it's not my business!"

Hermione raised a hand, her eyes shutting to signal for silence. Ron obeyed, though reluctantly, and settled himself back into the cushions like a spoiled child who didn't get the toy they wanted. "His son was sick and he didn't know how to deal with it. Even if it was Malfoy, I can't let an innocent child go about without care, and you know that." Ron nodded stiffly. "Everything's fine now, of course. He just had a bit of a stomach problem and a fever. He'll be right as rain when he wakes up later." She rose from the couch then, heading into the kitchen. "Would you like some tea while you're here?" A grunt was all she received, so she made two cups just to be safe.

Carrying the mugs back to her sitting area, she sat beside Ron rather gracefully, holding out his tea. He took it, though only held onto it while he glared into space. Eventually, his eyes lifted to meet hers and his mouth opened and closed a few times. He huffed, glanced back down on the floor and somehow managed to form words. "Why do you always make yourself so involved in everyone else's lives, 'Mione? He could have called someone from St. Mungo's, you know. It's not like he can't afford it." He flashed a lopsided grin, "then again, if I worked there, I wouldn't want to make a house-call for Malfoy."

This awarded him a playful smack on the shoulder from Hermione, who was smiling whole-heartedly. "Honestly, Ronald! I can understand you letting Malfoy die, but an innocent child? That's positively heartless!" She took a sip of her tea before placing it on the table in front of her, coaster carefully beneath it. "Is that the only reason you're here? Because you wanted to argue about my helping Chayton?" Her eyes were cold, as if daring him to reprimand her for doing a good deed.

Ron seemed to recognize the look, his grin turning slightly bashful as he sunk further into the couch cushions, drawing his mug to his lips. He took a healthy swig before following Hermione's example and placing the cup on a coaster. "Actually, mum wanted to know if you would come by the house for dinner tonight. She misses you." He lifted his eyes to meet hers, smiling slightly, "we all do."

Hermione smiled sympathetically before taking hold of her mug once more and raising it to her lips for strength. "Honestly, Ron," she took a sip, swallowed, "I'd love to, but I really need to get started on this bachelor story. I've got a bit to go off of. I might as well get part of it done. I hope you all understand. Maybe I can make it tomorrow?"

Ron shrugged, downing the rest of his tea in one gulp before rising from the couch. "Maybe 'Mione. Just . . . Promise me you won't forget who your real friends are, okay?" He paused at the front door, turning to glance back at her. She nodded to show she understood. "See you tomorrow, I hope." With that, he apparated out.

-;-;-;

Hermione had been working furiously for the passed few hours, her hair now completely frizzed and mussed from how many times she'd ran her fingers through it. At the current moment, she was poring through her notes again, trying to find something she'd missed, something that would piece everything together.

After several moments of staring blankly, something finally hit her, her eyes widening as she sat up straight in her chair, lifting her vision to focus on the darkened window in front of her. "That's why he doesn't call me a mudblood." Her fingers raked through her hair again, managing to snag on a particularly nasty tangle before she combed it out in frustration. "But still . . . That doesn't explain his anger earlier." She groaned as she flopped onto her couch, her head resting comfortably on the arm rest, Crookshanks hopping into her lap. "I'm going bloody insane, Crookshanks. Do you see what this man is doing to me? I honestly thought I had it bad in school . . . " She shook her head slightly, her hand running idly over the silky fur of her feline. The last thing she remembered from her conscious state was one thought; _why is he the only thing that's ever on my mind?_

_**A/N: **_Still just updating. Pay it no mind.


	9. Admirable Traits in a Woman

_**Summary: **__Hermione Granger is a writer for _Witch Weekly_, and she's just been assigned a new story. Draco Malfoy. He's recently become a widower, and is now Wizarding London's most eligible bachelor. With her frequent visits for interviews, will something blossom between the two? Or will Hermione simply be forced to watch her twenty-three year old enemy care for his son on his own?_

_**Interview for Life**_

**Chapter Nine: **_AdmirableTraits in a Woman._

"I just don't understand it, Ginny!" Hermione's hands crashed palm-down against the table of the small diner they were seated in. "Why would he care about anything like that? He's Malfoy! He has no feelings! He's not supposed to give a hair off Merlin's beard for the death of a Muggle!"

Ginny reached across the table to pat her friend on the shoulder, a concerned look on her face. "Maybe it's not the fact that she was a Muggle?" Ginny grimaced slightly at the horrified look on Hermione's face and she held up a hand to continue. "Perhaps it's because Pansy killed her only because she couldn't have children? I admit Malfoy's heartless, so that's a wild idea—but still possible." Hermione's eyes were wide as she looked at her friend, her vision quickly trailing to the window beside her.

Gathering her purse and wand, she set several sickles on the table before rising, her eyes glued to the exit. "I have to find out, Gin. I'll owl you later!" She bustled out the door and apparated to her flat almost immediately.

-;-;-;

Hermione was, once again, seated and frustrated at her desk. Nothing in her notes could justify anything pertaining to Malfoy's affair. A groan escaped her throat as she rested her head in the cradle of her arms, eyes sliding closed.

She sat up abruptly, her eyes shifting to the fireplace. With a slight grin, she grabbed her things, "I should have thought about that earlier." She took a handful of green powder and tossed it into the flames. A second later, she was within the green flames, shouting, "Malfoy Manor!"

-;-;-;

Malfoy was perturbed—to say the least—about Hermione's unannounced arrival. Steel gray eyes lifted to the fireplace of his hearth at the roaring green flames, a sneer forming on his lips as she strode into the room. Butting the stack of parchment against his desk, Draco rose, running a hand through his hair. His vision then focused on Hermione, cold and unwavering. "To what do I owe this splendid visit, Granger?" The words were purely sarcastic as he turned from her, making his way to the door of his study. He could tell by the clicking of her heels that she trailed behind him.

Hermione rolled her eyes at Malfoy's attitude, her focus floating to the mahogany desk. Her curiosity as to the papers was going to drive her mad. As far as she knew, the blond Slytherin didn't have a job.

Her hand caught the door just before it slid shut on her, a snort of disgust forcing its way through her nostrils. "Honestly, Malfoy. I thought that those raised in rich households were instructed to be gentlemen, holding doors open." She simply got an evil bout of laughter in return.

Within seconds, Draco was holding open the door to the library, his eyebrows lifted obnoxiously. "Ladies first," was the comment he decided to spit at her as she made her way past him, her head high.

She seated herself on the couch, her legs crossing of their own accord as she rummaged through her purse. All she came to reveal was her wand, which she rolled between her thumb and forefinger. Draco cast her a questioning glance as he seated himself across from her, clearly wondering why she hadn't brought her notes. "I do not wish to record the first series of questions I am going to ask you. I hope that makes you a bit more comfortable as to answering truthfully." She paused, gathering her wits about her before releasing a sigh and relaxing back against the plush cushions of the couch. "Why were you so upset about the death of a Muggle?"

Draco would have looked taken aback, had he not been an expert at concealing his emotions. Yet, Hermione managed to catch the brief flicker of surprise that lingered within his eyes for only a second. "It wasn't the death of a Muggle that upset me, so much as the death of a woman." Stormy gray pools shifted away from Hermione's brown eyes, locating a particularly interesting spot on the marble floor. "Although she wasn't a witch, we had some strange connection between us—because of Chayton. When Pansy murdered her for sheer selfishness, it was an insult to my judgement." His eyes flashed back up to meet the bookworm's, his brows furrowing, "Although I'd wanted a child for a period of time, I was far from ready for the responsibilities. I have a manor to run, women to bed, and bank accounts to manage. I was hoping that Johanna could raise the child and I could visit from time to time. Then I could continue on with my life as normal. Pansy fucked everything." His eyes shifted to a row of books beside him; his shoulders shrugging to signal he was finished.

Hermione revealed a slightly satisfied grin at his short explanation; her eyes widening just enough that the action was almost unnoticeable. "For a moment there, I thought you were going to admit to having a heart. Though, now I realize it's impossible for Malfoys to have such a thing." Her purse was lifted from its resting-place on the cushions beside her, her fingers revealing parchment and quill. "Now, on with our professional interview. What is it you're looking for in a woman, Mister Malfoy?" She arched a slender eyebrow as the Quick Quotes Quill wrote down her first inquiry.

Draco sent her a smirk, watching her for a moment as she tightened the bun at the back of her skull. "What do I want in a woman?" She nodded at this, Malfoy coursing his fingers through his hair as he thought about the possibilities. "Well, for starters, she must be attractive," another nod from Hermione, brown eyes rolling in obvious understanding. "She also must be intelligent. Being married to Pansy was full of enough stupidity to last me a lifetime. Bravery is a plus, as a Malfoy should not be married to a coward." He paused, his forefinger tapping his chin as he pondered. "A stable personality is required. I would appreciate a woman who isn't afraid to argue her opinion." His arm dropped, landing to rest upon the chair. Though neither one said it; Draco Malfoy had just described one Miss Hermione Granger.

Hermione cleared her throat to disperse the pregnant silence now drifting throughout the room, her fingers twiddling with her wand in a nervous gesture. "You do realize, of course, that one specific person is to decide who is best suited for you. Although several professionals will be sifting through the bachelorettes, I need to know who you would prefer to make the final decisions." She was averting his eyes, watching the quill as it scribbled away atop the parchment.

A wicked chuckle released itself from Draco's throat as he watched her, his arms snaking together across his chest. "To think it could have been obvious." Hermione's eyes flickered to land on his own, her fidgeting ceased for the moment as he continued to speak. "You're the one conducting these interviews, not to mention you've known me for a great length of time—even if we weren't on friendly terms. You should know me better than any professional by the time the letters arrive." The brunette Gryffindor got the unusual feeling that Draco was suggesting something other than the obvious meaning.

Hermione's eyes flickered to the parchment, waiting for the moment that it halted its dance upon her notes. She snatched it from the air, stuffing it viciously into her purse as she rose from the couch, wand in hand. The only words she uttered—before she made her way toward the exit—were, "very well, Malfoy." She made sure to keep moving, her hand shaking as she took hold of the floo powder to send her home.

-;-;-;

Hermione was twisting wrinkles into her blouse as she waited for Ginny's arrival, her eyes shifting to the window before flitting toward the fireplace. Growing tired of sitting, she rose with an impatient huff of breath, running her fingers through her hair in aggravation. The roaring of flames caught her attention; her head turning in expectation as a figure walked through the flames. She practically squealed as she ran forward, wrapping her arms about one of her closest friends. "Oh, Ginny! It's absolutely frustrating, this entire—" she cut herself off at the realization that the figure she was currently holding close was **not** feminine. Nor short enough to be Ginevra Weasley.

Easing away from the tall form, Hermione lifted her eyes to meet the cold, gray pools of Draco Malfoy. "Do continue, Granger. I believe your story was just about to get interesting." Shaking her head, Hermione made her way back to the living room, only to turn and stride back toward her former enemy. The fury and disbelief etched on Granger's face caused Malfoy to smirk, the fireplace roaring behind him to signal another arrival. The Weaselette collided into his back, Draco stepping forward to allow her entrance into the seemingly cramped room. "I simply came by, Granger, to inform you of the fact that Chayton is doing quite well. Your assistance on his health matter is appreciated." Turning, Draco bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement of the young redhead beside him. "Weasley." He forced himself to hide his sneer of disgust, his hand lifting protectively to his nose.

Ginny smiled slightly, lifting her head defiantly in a very Hermione-like action. "Malfoy." The tall blond took a handful of floo and disappeared through the flames before Ginny turned wide eyes onto her best friend. "How long had he been here, 'Mione?" The question seemed to be a form of accusation, Hermione's hand flying to her chest as she turned to seat herself on the couch. "Hermione Jane Granger! You didn't . . . "

"Of course not, Ginny! He had only been here a few seconds. Don't get your knickers in a twist over something that didn't happen." _Although I wish it had,_ Hermione mentally smacked herself for the thought that ran through her mind. Shaking her head, she rose from her seat and ran her palms across her shirt, attempting to compose herself. "I believe we have dinner to attend with your mother?" Ginny nodded and Hermione made her way to the fireplace, extracting a healthy amount of green powder before tossing it into the flames. She took her friend's hand, dragging the younger girl into the fireplace as she shouted, "The Burrow!"

-;-;-;

Dinner had been as exciting as usual in the Weasley household, considering that everyone had attended. Ron had, apparently, informed everyone that Hermione would be joining them. Now they were all seated haphazardly in the living room, Tonks determined to be the life of the party. At the current moment, her hair was a sickly shade of green and she looked quite a bit like a rounder version of Sibyll Trelawny, which Hermione couldn't help but laugh at. The rest of the room was right along with her. Tonks quickly adopted her usual appearance, pink hair and all, seating herself beside the columnist with a bright smile. "I was told to apologize for Remus' absence, by the way. It wasn't the right . . . Time." Her eyes twinkled as she touched her finger to her nose, winking playfully toward Harry and Ginny.

Fred and George were sneakily plotting about some new device in a secluded corner, eyeing the group occasionally. Hermione had been careful to remain out of their way for most of dinner, not wishing to have another 'shrinking sweater' episode. At the moment, she was quite content watching Tonks' appearance change, Ron's arm draped about her shoulders in a protective manner. He'd already given her a lecture for the day over Malfoy's intentions. Ginny had apparently spilled the information of what had happened earlier. Hermione refused to speak to her for the rest of the night.

Glancing to the obnoxiously small watch about her wrist, Hermione rose and stretched, turning to smile at the group. "It's getting late. I should probably go home and get to bed." She offered Ginny an apologetic look, although she still wasn't wishing to speak out loud to the redhead.

Instead, Ginny spoke to her. "Actually, I was hoping that you could help me with some invitations and wedding things tomorrow. You're more than welcome to stay tonight, or so Mum said. Ron's room is open." She flashed the brunette an obnoxious smile as Ron rose to take Hermione's hand and lead her up the stairs. Obviously, Hermione's opinion on the matter wasn't to be voiced.

-;-;-;

It had been awkward, sleeping in the same bed as Ron with no sex involved. He had tried, Hermione shrugging him off and using the 'it's your parent's house' excuse. The young man had attempted several more tricky maneuvers before he decided that she was serious. She had fallen asleep around two o'clock in the morning.

Eyeing her watch, she realized that it was half-passed noon, her eyes widening as she bolted upright in bed, Ron rolling off the side from the disturbance. He muttered several choice words from his position on the floor before kneeling and resting one arm on the bed, the other rubbing the back of his skull. "Merlin, 'Mione. Who lit a fire under your arse?"

Hermione shook her head, tossing the covers off of her legs before dashing to the door. "No time to explain Ron. Be back in a moment!" She hurled herself down the stairs, catching Ginny and Harry in a precarious situation on the couch. Snarling, she rolled her eyes in disgust before continuing toward the fireplace, half-heartedly combing her hair. At the moment, she didn't have time to think about why her appearance mattered.

Sending a spray of green dust into the fire, Hermione stepped into it and called her order, "Malfoy Manor!" When she arrived on the other side, she was grateful that Ginny had loaned her a modest pair of pajama pants and a baggy t-shirt. That hideously pink nightgown would not have been appropriate for the sight she wandered in on.

Malfoy was seated on the floor beside his son, teaching the boy how to play with some unusual toy that Hermione couldn't place from her distance. As Draco glanced up at the intruder, his genuine smile disappeared from his lips, eyebrows lifting at her appearance. "Are we discarding the business end of our interviews? Or did you run out of decent outfits?" His lips tilted into a wicked smirk as he rose to his feet, Chayton looking too much like his father as he sneered in disgust at Hermione's choice of clothing.

Hermione rolled her eyes as she padded across the cold floor, combing through the messy tangles of her hair in an attempt to not feel so hideous. "I had a busy night and I woke late. I figured I would come by to tell you that I will **not** be available to interview you today. Besides, you appear to be busy enough as it is." Brown eyes flickered to the boy on the floor, who was now beaming at her—whether in humor or pleasantry, Hermione couldn't place.

The tall blond offered her a shrug before making himself comfortable on the floor once more, losing interest in the sudden appearance since she wasn't staying. He couldn't torment her if she wasn't there.

Releasing a huff of air, Hermione stormed back to the fireplace like a spoiled child, grabbed a handful of floo powder, and returned to the burrow.

There was Hell to pay when she stepped out of the fireplace.

-;-;-;

_**A/N: **_Updating . . .


	10. Lusting for Love

_**Summary: **__Hermione Granger is a writer for _Witch Weekly_, and she's just been assigned a new story. Draco Malfoy. He's recently become a widower and is now Wizarding London's most eligible bachelor. With her frequent visits for interviews, will something blossom between the two? Or will Hermione simply be forced to watch her twenty-three year old enemy care for his son on his own?_

_**Interview for Life**_

**Chapter Ten: **_Lusting for Love._

Hermione's eyes widened at the sight before her, a very red-faced Ron giving her one of the most deadly glares she'd ever seen on a Weasley. Molly was looking reprimanding, an expression on her face that proved she was battling whether or not she should curse Hermione for the place she'd just gone. The twins were smiling wickedly, clearly loving the idea of watching the young writer get an earful. Harry and Ginny were no longer seated on the couch, but standing perpendicular to Hermione, shouting something at Ron. Listening carefully, Granger finally understood what was happening as Ginny's voice pierced the air. "Bloody Hell, Ronald! It's her **job**! She gets **paid** to go over there. You honestly think that she's doing it for pleasure?"

Ron nodded furiously, glaring at his sister, now, instead of his best friend. "She could have bloody owled him, Gin! Merlin, we've—"

"No! She couldn't have! You left Pig at home and we no longer have a family owl here! Shut it, Ron. Leave her be." Ginny was fuming as she turned to Hermione, casting an apologetic smile at her friend.

Ron rounded on Hermione, eyebrows raised, "why did you have to go over there, 'Mione?"

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, only to be cut off by a seemingly angry Harry Potter. "Ronald Weasley, your sister said drop it. And so help me, I won't be afraid to enforce it. There's nothing left to discuss." Hermione smirked, crossing her arms across her chest in a triumphant stance. She loved her friends!

Ron's mouth opened and closed several times, apparently he was debating over whether or not to continue with the subject. Still angry, he turned around to face Molly, storming toward the dining table and seating himself with a huff. Tonks gave him a curious look from the staircase, obviously having just woken up and wandered downstairs. With a shrug, the metamorphmagus continued forward and sat at the table, glancing about the room as if trying to define the situation.

Ginny wrapped Hermione in a hug, clearly attempting to apologize for last night, stirring up things for this morning. "Sorry, 'Mione. How about we eat some breakfast, then run to Diagon Alley and pick up some decorations for the wedding? We can do invitations after lunch."

Hermione nodded, striding toward the table and sitting as far away from Ron as physically possible. "That would be lovely, Ginny. Thank you."

-;-;-;

Hermione and Ginny were now seated in a small table outside of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, enjoying rather large cones while they admired the invitations they'd picked out at the stationary shop. Ginny had called in ahead of time to have them specially made by the owner—this had cost Harry a pretty penny—and Hermione was **quite** impressed with them. The invitations were on simple gold-leaf designed paper, scarlet lettering across the front of it which read: _**You have been invited to . . . **_The ink would then disappear, re-writing with something different: _**Harry Potter and Ginevra Weasley's wedding. September 1st two-thousand and three.**_ Simple, yet elegant. Hermione was currently assisting Ginny with addressing the envelopes.

Having already picked up all the decorations for the wedding, Hermione's eyes were now scanning Ginny's hand-picked guest-list. The young writer found that she knew most people on the list, though some caused her to think on how she'd known the name. Holding out her hand, Ginny motioned that she needed the guest-list. "Hand it over, 'Mione. I forgot to add someone that Harry and I both want to invite. Whether he comes or not is his decision." Hermione gladly handed over the simple piece of parchment, envying the lovely envelopes, which embossed themselves with the name(s) of the invited the moment the ink was applied.

So engrossed was Hermione in the process of helping her best friend, that she didn't notice the name Ginny had added until she got to the bottom of the list and wrote the name upon the envelope. Her hand paused mid-name; her eyes widening as she cast a confused look at her friend. "Why the bloody Hell did you decide to invite Malfoy?" Setting the quill down gently, Hermione cupped her chin in her hands, eyeing her friend coldly.

Ginny smiled, waving her hand nonchalantly as she continued browsing through the selection of ice-cream cakes that Florean Fortescue's had to offer. "Harry and I actually had a long discussion about it. We've both agreed that our problems with Malfoy were in the passed. The war's over, Hermione. No need to keep enemies. Besides, who knows when some other wicked wizard will arrive? We'll need all of the help we can get." She lifted her eyes from the book long enough to flash Hermione a smile, signaling that the conversation was over and there was nothing Hermione could do about it. With a huff of breath, the brunette wrote out the rest of the name in fluid calligraphy, her eyes narrowed viciously. She honestly thought that she could have gotten away for several days without having to deal with him. Curse Harry and his 'let's make amends' attitude.

-;-;-;

Ginny, having finally decided on a cake, she placed her order to have it ready the day of the wedding. She instructed that her mother, Molly Weasley, would be in to pick up the cake the morning of September first. The man behind the counter nodded merrily and set about to run his business.

Hermione was eyeing Flourish & Blotts as they strode passed, her eyes brightening slightly as she turned to Ginny. "Gin? Have you thought of getting a guest-book for the wedding? It's a lovely way to have a memory of who showed. After presents, you can write down what they brought you. My parents did that when they were married."

Ginny smiled widely before grabbing Hermione's hand and dragging her into the small bookshop, wondering whether or not the keeper would have empty books. Turned out, he had an entire section dedicated to journals, diaries and guest-books. Ginny plucked a scarlet one from the rack, only to notice that it had gold binding and ivy-like designs embroidered upon the front. "Perfect," she hummed before continuing to the counter and purchasing the book. Why Harry and Ginny had settled upon Gryffindor house colors for their wedding, Hermione would never know. She was always prone to silver and some other mystifying color. But what? Blast it all, why worry about it? If she ever came across the man of her dreams—which she highly doubted, as her expectations were far too great—she could plan her wedding then. She supposed she was just getting excited over the fact that her two best friends were finally ending up together, like they should be. Ginny's voice pierced her thoughts, shaking her from her daydreams. "We should probably get back to mum's, get these invitations in the mail." Hermione nodded, following Ginny to the Leaky Cauldron, where they could floo back to the Burrow.

-;-;-;

Ron was waiting for their return when Hermione and Ginny strode out of the flames, laden with bags. He offered a lop-sided smile to Hermione, running his hand through his hair. Hermione lifted her eyebrows, setting the bags upon the couch as she watched him intently. His shoulders shrugged in a defeated manner before he finally began to speak. "Harry and I were talking while you were out with Gin. I'm sorry that I accused you of doing something that you haven't done. After all, if you'd slept with Malfoy, you'd be going on and on about how horrible he is in bed compared to me." The last sentence was uttered somewhat quietly, as if Ron believed his mother to be eavesdropping.

Hermione smiled politely, nodding her head to show that she understood. "I accept your apology, and I hope that you will be less quick to judge in the future." Lifting the bags from the counter, she seated herself at the dining room table to help Ginny with the rest of the wedding plans. Merlin . . . Had Ron **actually** apologized? Perhaps she should invite him to her flat for dinner later that night. Hopefully if she were a bit more like a friend than a distant acquaintance, he would realize that she wasn't sleeping around.

-;-;-;

Hermione's head tilted back into the pillows, her mouth widening to elicit a gentle moan as her nails dug into the flesh on Ron's back. Thrusting her hips up to meet his, she captured his lips in a violent kiss, her back arching against him as pleasure ripped throughout her body. Slamming herself against the mattress, she couldn't stop the name that erupted from her lips. "Oh Merlin . . . Draco!"

Ron was off of her so quickly, that she hardly knew what happened. The only thing she noticed was the incredibly chilling draft that hit her as she attempted to catch her breath. Turning half-lidded eyes onto the redhead across the room, she pushed herself up onto her elbows. Ron was shaking his head in disbelief, staring at Hermione accusingly. "Bloody Hell! You **did** sleep with him!" Hermione shook her head, holding up a hand and opening her mouth to explain. It was too late. Ron was already ranting while he gathered his clothes to leave. "If you feel more . . . **Relieved** when you shag Malfoy, then be my guest. Don't expect to hear from me again." Buckling his belt about his waist, he strode through the door of her bedroom before yanking his shirt over his head. "Have a great life, Hermione!" She heard the fire roar and knew that Ronald Weasley was no longer an object of affection. If he ever was before.

Flopping onto her bed, she yanked the covers up to her chin, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. 'Bloody Hell . . . What have I **done**?' For the first time in her life, Hermione Granger was confused. So confused, in fact, that she cried herself to sleep.

-;-;-;

Hermione woke groggily, aware of the fact that someone was moving about in her living room. Wrapping her sheet about her body, she rose from the bed, poking her head out of her bedroom door to examine the scene. Harry was pacing from her kitchen to her front door, Ginny seated on her couch—obviously trying to be the voice of reason in this situation. Hermione cleared her throat as she stepped from her bedroom, clutching her bedclothes closer to her chest.

Ginny rose from the couch as Harry's head snapped around to look at her. Hermione blushed, suddenly feeling very ashamed of her decision to only carry a blanket. Harry opened his mouth to speak, but at the sensation of Ginny's hand upon his shoulder, remained silent and glaring. Ginny smiled slightly, eyeing Hermione curiously. "'Mione, hun . . . Would you mind telling us what happened last night? And more importantly . . . What happened between you and Malfoy?"

Hermione rolled her eyes as she made her way to the couch, plunking upon it in a very unlady-like fashion. Thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of her nose, she squeezed her eyes shut tight and sighed. "To be completely honest, I'm not entirely sure as to the occurrences of last night. As for Malfoy, there is nothing going on between the two of us. We have not, nor will we ever, sleep together. I tried to explain it to Ron last night, but he wouldn't hear a word of it. Instead, he went about gathering his things and stormed out. As usual. I'm sorry." Covering her face with her hands, she rubbed her eyes viciously, trying to think of a way to make this right. In any normal situation, she would simply let Ron go with it, eventually he would get over it, and everything would be back to the way it had been before. But with this . . . Ron would never forgive her for her actions of the previous night. She had—most definitely—lost a friend because of her simple lusting after the enemy.

A lone tear escaped her eye, coursing down her cheek as a realization finally hit her. There was a specific reason why she'd called out Draco's name in bed. There was a reason why he was the only thing she ever thought about. As much as she hated to admit it, she was lusting after one Draco Malfoy. And even more so, she hated to admit that she believed she was beginning to fall in love with the man in question. Why, she had no idea. Perhaps it was because he'd shown tiny splinters of a different, caring person when she'd been alone with him in his home. Perhaps it was the fact that he still treated her like they were in school. She wasn't entirely sure, but she longed to see him again.

Oh Merlin . . . She had to choose his wife. Not daring to look at Harry and Ginny, she hid her face in her sheets and wept. Imagine how Draco would react if she ever told him about her feelings. He would point and laugh, mock her for all eternity. She would never hear the end of it. She heard the distinct sound of her fireplace roaring with floo, thankful that Harry and Ginny had left her in peace. When had she become such a bloody cry-baby? Sniffing, she wiped her eyes before rising from the couch and making her way to her bedroom. She needed a shower. A good, hot shower would make her come to her senses.

-;-;-;

Harry and Ginny arrived in Ron's flat only seconds after leaving Hermione's, Ginny's eyes narrowed and cold as ice. "Ronald Weasley! You get your arse out here right this instant!" Scrambling was heard from the general direction of the bedroom before a rather tired-looking Ron emerged into the living room. "Do you know what you've done to her? You wouldn't even let her bloody explain! You idiot!" Ginny landed a hard punch against her brother's left shoulder, feeling somewhat satisfied at the wince she received.

"Merlin, Ginny! What did you expect me to do? Stand there and listen to her lie her way out of a situation? She's got you two so wrapped up in it, that you don't even realize what's going on." He ran his hand through his hair, clearly frustrated with the entire situation.

Ginny awarded him another smack, shoving him backward before Harry finally managed to restrain her. "She's in **tears**, Ron! **Tears**! She feels horrible that she did that to you. Besides . . . The two of you shouldn't have been sleeping together to begin with." Ginny gave a knowledgeable nod of her head before shrugging Harry's hand off of her shoulders.

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but was silenced by the raising of Harry's hand. "Gin's right, you know. 'Mione was in tears, and you both know that nothing could have worked out between you. Yet, you still insisted on having a relationship—of sorts. You should have known that someone would have ended up hurt eventually. Bet you never thought that it could have been both? Leave her alone for a couple days, Ron. Let her relax and pull herself together. We'll keep an eye on her." Harry wrapped his arm about his fiance, shifting her toward the fireplace. "Come on, Gin. We still have wedding business to tend to." Ginny nodded, sticking her tongue out at her brother before they disappeared in a flash of green flame.

_**A/N:**_Hmmm . . . No changes.


	11. Realizations and Confrontations

_**Summary: **__Hermione Granger is a writer for _Witch Weekly_, and she's just been assigned a new story. Draco Malfoy. He's recently become a widower and is now Wizarding London's most eligible bachelor. With her frequent visits for interviews, will something blossom between the two? Or will Hermione simply be forced to watch her twenty-three year old enemy care for his son on his own?_

_**Interview for Life**_

**Chapter Eleven: **_Realizations and Confrontations._

Hermione stood in front of her full-length mirror, straightening the lapels of her newest business suit. After the visit from Ginny and Harry, she'd taken herself shopping to purchase some attire for her interviews. The pin-stripes upon this fresh addition were quite flattering to her figure and Hermione found herself casting a very Malfoy-like smirk at her appearance. Although she didn't agree with the incredibly short length of her skirt, she adored the way it looked on her.

Deciding to leave her hair down for once, she applied an ample amount of styling gel to her curls, causing the frizz to disappear for a day. Flipping a lock of hair over her shoulders, she checked the time on her watch and nodded before heading to her fireplace. She'd owled Draco earlier to inform him of her arrival. It was now time to uphold the earlier statements.

-;-;-;

Hermione dusted the soot from her outfit as she stepped out of the fireplace, examining the empty study. With a shrug, she figured Draco would probably be in the library, awaiting her arrival and the interview to come. Striding forward, she shoved her way through the door, heels clicking on the marble floor beneath her feet. The double doors to the library stood open, Hermione lifting an eyebrow at this new form of welcome. She turned into the room to find Draco seated in his normal chair, his eyebrows lifting at her appearance. "Decide that the 'professional' attire wasn't working, Granger? It appears you're attempting your hand at the 'I'm a slut, sleep with me' look." He smirked at the frustrated look that pursed her lips as she sat across from him.

"Shut it, Malfoy." She crossed her legs, revealing quite an ample amount of her thigh. A blush rising to her cheeks, she uncrossed them at the knee and hooked her ankles.

The blonde Slytherin couldn't help but snigger at the obvious discomfort her new outfit was causing her. Although he so desperately wanted to tease her, he decided it would be best to get on with the interview. "What's the progress on the story?" He slouched back against the chair, crossing his arms in a very un-aristocratic manner.

Hermione nodded as Draco spoke her language, leaning back comfortably and crossing her legs—again. "To be completely honest, it seems to be coming along nicely. I'm nearly finished with it, actually." Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose, thinking of how best to mention other things. Sighing heavily, she decided to leave it for a minute. "I should have it completed in a few days."

Draco smirked, lifting an eyebrow, "then why the sudden need to come here? If you have all of the information you need, why waste both of our time?" He saw Hermione squirm underneath that question, the other eyebrow lifting to meet its brother. "Or do you have **other** reasons to stick around?"

"Oh! For Merlin's sake, Draco! Why the Hell do you think? I know you're not stupid. Figure it out."

Draco's smirk grew into a wicked grin, his index finger shaking back and forth, head mirroring the movement. "Now, now, **Hermione**, I thought we had already discussed the first-name issue. It's strictly reserved for people that I've slept with. And, as far as my memories take me, we haven't slept together. **Yet**." The blush that covered Hermione's face made him chuckle once more, his fingers coursing through his hair as he attempted to work everything out.

Before he had a chance to even **touch** any ideas, Hermione's voice hummed through the library. Had he not been focusing, he wouldn't have heard the timid whisper that escaped her lips. "I . . . I think I'm . . . Falling in love with you." Her head tilted away from him, eyes focusing on the armrest of the couch, her cheeks nearly as red as a Weasley's.

Draco's eyes were wide. He'd expected a different phrase, one that involved sex and never talking to one another. But love? Love, he couldn't handle. Not right now. His expression turning as cold as his father's, he rose from his chair to tower over Hermione, his fingers tilting her chin up to look at him. "I think it would be best if you focused on the story. Pretend we never became civil with each other. Do you understand?" Hermione nodded, jerking her head from his hand as she rose from the couch, only to brush against him. She shook her head as she turned away, taking hold of her purse so tightly that her knuckles turned white. "Hermione." She spun around to glare at him, only to notice his hand was around her wrist. In one swift movement, he yanked her forward against his chest, his lips pressed against hers in their first **gentle** kiss. Then he fled. A billow of his robes was all that she saw as he left the room. She heard his voice echo down the hallway as she made her way to the door. He stood atop the staircase, looking down at her with an expression of . . . Was that sorrow? "Think of that as the last time we'll ever see each other. You disserve it, after putting up with my nonsense for as long as you have." Then he continued down the hallway and out of her sight.

Hermione felt tears in her eyes as she strode into the study, her index- and middle-finger pressed to her lips. They still tingled from that amazing kiss they'd shared. Shaking herself out of her stupor, she wiped her eyes and threw a handful of floo into the fireplace. Stepping into the green flames, she managed to yell, "Hermione Granger's flat!" She was whisked away in a swirl of green and black.

-;-;-;

Hermione had finally changed into her pajamas, her quill scribbling furiously on the parchment that she had decided was her story. Her eyes shifted to the hanging clock above her kitchen's entryway, her eyes rolling at the symbols that flooded to her mind. Two-thirty in the morning. How the bloody Hell she'd managed to work that long without any interruptions, she would never know. Her eyes shifted back to the bachelor story, her eyes flooding with tears as she re-read what she'd just applied to the parchment. All of the traits that Draco Malfoy was looking for in a woman. Shaking her head, she rose from her seat and rushed to her bedroom, taking hold of the outfit she'd worn earlier that day. She changed quickly, taking hold of her wand and apparating to just outside of the Malfoy estate. Sighing, she glared down the road with a look of determination to rival one of her school days.

-;-;-;

The walk had been a long one and she wondered several times why she hadn't been smart enough just to floo to the manor. But now she stood upon the doorstep, her knuckles rapping upon the hard wood. She heard someone moving inside, almost in a frenzied pace. Her heart beat quickened, her stomach flipping as she tucked her wand into her purse and waited.

The door flew open to reveal Draco in a pair of plaid pajama pants, his hair standing in every direction except for the one Hermione was used to. She held back her smirk as she strode calmly forward, her arms snaking about his neck to pull him into a hungry kiss. The heel of her shoe closed the door behind them as she managed to somehow back him into a wall. His hands found her waist just as she pulled away, her eyes glazed with passion. Draco opened his mouth to speak, only to have Hermione's hand placed gently over his lips. "Don't think, Draco. Follow your instincts." She could feel him smirk beneath her hand, one eyebrow arching in an almost playful expression. Removing her hand, Hermione pressed her lips against his once more, the sensation of his tongue against her lips causing her to shiver and gasp, allowing him the entrance he requested. The softened thud of her purse hitting the ground wasn't even noticed.

She felt the slam of her back into a wall, Draco's hand inching along her thigh to the hem of her skirt. His fingertips located the silky flesh just beneath the striped fabric, inching further up along the inside. Hermione gasped, attempting to pull away from the kiss, the back of her head locating the wall rather roughly. Draco released her lips, both eyebrows raised with a look of confusion. Hermione smiled innocently, looking up at him through her eyelashes. "Your bedroom?" Draco rolled his eyes but listened to her request none-the-less. His fingertips left the warmth of her flesh to scoop her into his arms. He must have taken the stairs two at a time, because within seconds, Hermione found her back pressed into the lush expanse of down comforter and silken sheets. Draco found himself on top of her, continuing where he'd left off.

His hand inched along the inside of her thigh, searching for the soft sensation of her underwear. When he found it, his fingers slid beneath the band of elastic, brushing against moist curls. Hermione elicited a moan, only to be silenced by the sensation of Draco's lips upon her own. His fingers slid inside of her, her hands gripping the bed sheets in response. She moaned against his mouth, her hands lifting to press against his shoulders. Draco smirked through the kiss before taking hold of her wrists and pinning them above her head. His lips trailed along her jaw to her ear, his voice husky against her ear. "You told me to follow my instincts. You should **never** say that to a Malfoy." His thumb located her clitoris, rubbing in circular motions as his fingers swirled inside of her. Hermione's back arched as she tried to free her wrists from his grasp, a soft mention of his name escaping her lips. He chuckled against the lobe of her ear, "that's right. You're **allowed** to use my first name, now."

Hermione whimpered when Draco removed his hand from beneath her skirt, unzipping the object of attire and tossing it to the floor before removing her underwear. Her fingers worked furiously on the jacket of her suit, discarding it with the rest of her clothes. Draco settled himself on top of her, forcing her into a violent kiss as his hips rocked against her. Hermione gasped before moaning against his lips at the feel of his arousal against her own. His hands traveled down her sides to remove his pajama pants, his fingers sliding across her entrance before focusing on the little bundle of nerves once more. His lips attacked her neck in a series of nips and kisses, working their way down along her collarbone. He snarled at the obvious interruption that was Hermione's bra, his fingers locating the snap at her back and tossing the thin fabric to the floor.

Returning his attentions to her chest, Draco swirled his tongue around one of Hermione's nipples, his hand toying with the other as he positioned his arousal at her entrance. Hermione whimpered with need, her eyes half-lidded at the sensations Draco was sending through her body. Merlin, Ron had **never** been this good. Draco pushed inside of her just as she came to her senses, her eyes springing open as Draco lifted himself to look at her face. "Well, well, well. I honestly thought you would still be a virgin."

His smirk caused Hermione to glare at him, which earned her a hard thrust in response. She couldn't help but moan at the size of him, her back arching to brush her nipples against his chest. "Draco . . . We . . . "

Draco's eyebrows lifted as Hermione's legs wrapped about his waist of their own accord. Releasing a chuckle, he pressed his lips to her neck, grazing his teeth against the flesh as he picked up a rhythm with his hips. His words were muffled against her throat, "we what, Hermione?" He sent another hard thrust in her direction, smirking at the lengthy moan she released. "You don't see that you're at my mercy right now, do you?" Hermione shook her head, her hips lifting to meet his own. Her mind was telling her one thing, where her body refused to listen.

Yet, somehow, Hermione's intelligence won out over her hormones, the heels of her hands locating Draco's shoulders and shoving him backward. "We can't . . . Do this." Her legs released him, lying flat against the sheets.

At the mention of those words, Malfoy seemed to withdraw, pulling himself free of her and rocking back on his heels. "Why the bloody Hell not? You're the one that arrived at my door at three o'clock in the morning. Now you're telling me that we can't do this? It's just sex, Granger."

Hermione's eyes narrowed, boring into his own. "Exactly. It's just sex." Her hand lifted to pinch the bridge of her nose. How could she have been so **stupid**? "Now, if you wouldn't mind, I would like to get dressed." Sliding up the bed, Hermione glanced about the room for her clothing, locating the discarded attire all along the floor. Busily picking up each article and donning it, she didn't bother to glance at Draco throughout the entire process.

That cold drawl forced her back into reality, her eyes shifting to send another glare toward him. "You look tired. There's a guest bedroom three doors down the hall. On the left. It would be complete idiocy to apparate **or** floo." He had apparently chosen this time to make himself comfortable, lounging back on the pillows, the bed clothes draped over his waist.

Hermione could hardly keep herself from snarling at him, her eyes rolling in disgust as she picked up her jacket off of the floor. "Fine. But, don't expect to come waltzing in to seduce me. It won't work." With that, she strode from the room, slamming the door shut behind her. _Bloody arrogant prick. Why did I even bother to come here? _

-;-;-;

Draco was wakened to the sound of someone knocking timidly on his door, a sigh escaping his lips before he even bothered to open his eyes. "What?" His voice was chilled, as if set on ice overnight. When the door opened to reveal Mipsy—who looked rather shaken and confused—Draco tried his best to calm down. "What is it, Mipsy?"

The small house elf shook her head, lengthy ears managing to flop against the side of her face. "Master has visitor. In the parlor. Missus says is urgent."

Rolling his eyes, Draco sat up in an attempt to bring himself into a more aware state of mind, his fingers running across his eyelids to remove the sleep. "Very well, Mipsy. Tell our visitor that I'll be down in a moment." The small house elf nodded before scurrying out of the door, the silent click signaling Malfoy was, once more, alone.

-;-;-;

Hermione had been having very peaceful dreams, something about her first year of school and how happy she was to be there. Before all of the insults and enemies. So sound was she sleeping that the constant rapping upon the door seemed to be coming from her dream. That was, until she heard the door open and someone shout, very rudely, "bloody Hell, Granger! Wake up! It's nearly two o'clock in the afternoon!"

Muttering a groan of disappointment, the columnist pulled the blankets tighter around her body, snuggling into the pillow in an attempt to drown out the sound. Before she knew it, the blankets were whisked away, and her head was flat against the mattress. "I said wake up, you ignorant woman!"

Irritated passed the point of being able to get back to sleep, Hermione sat up, rubbing her eyes lightly before glowering at the owner of the house. "What's the rush, Malfoy? Afraid I'll taint your bedspread?" She was bitter, not willing to hold a conversation with him.

Draco's jaw tightened, the anger ebbing through him clearly attempting to blow through the roof. He held out his arm, the straps of her purse hooked on his fingers. It dangled tauntingly, as if to hypnotize her. "This was downstairs. In the entryway. A certain Daphne Greengrass happened to see it." He paused, almost as if for affect. "She **recognized** it. Do you have any idea what this could do to me? Luckily, I'm a quick enough thinker that I informed her of the fact that you're good at leaving things behind. That you'd been over earlier in the day and forgotten to grab it on your way out. She didn't buy it."

Hermione's eyebrows were raised, the grin creeping across her lips was one of pure humor. "You're worried about Greengrass? You can't be serious." At this point, she released a gentle chuckle, kicking her legs out from underneath the sheets to stride forward, lifting her purse from Draco's grip.

Draco's eyes went from cool blue to icy gray in a matter of seconds, his fists clenching at his sides. He took a step toward her, their noses mere centimeters apart. "Do not think that there will **ever** by **anything** between us. Do you understand? I want you **out**. And this time, don't bother updating me on the story. I'll see it in _Witch Weekly_ when it's printed. Get the Hell out of my sight." He was, at least, polite enough to move out of her way, though it took her a moment to process this. Her eyes were wide, her mouth slightly ajar as she stared at him in complete and utter shock. With an angry huff of air, she stormed from the room. If he didn't want to see her, **fine**! He bloody well wouldn't!__


	12. Weddings and Flops

_**Summary: **__Hermione Granger is a writer for _Witch Weekly_, and she's just been assigned a new story. Draco Malfoy. He's recently become a widower and is now Wizarding London's most eligible bachelor. With her frequent visits for interviews, will something blossom between the two? Or will Hermione simply be forced to watch her twenty-three year old enemy care for his son on his own?_

_**Interview for Life**_

**Chapter Twelve: **_Weddings and Flops._

Draco honestly couldn't believe that Hermione had managed to stay away as long as she had. Leaning down, he assisted Chayton with the straightening of the young boy's dress robes, smirking to himself. Draco had been invited to Potter's wedding, and be damned if he would turn down an invitation to a social event. Especially if it meant giving Granger a hard time.

Still knelt next to his son, Draco flashed a pleasant smile. "Are you ready to go, then?" The small boy made a look as if he was trying to think, his tongue touching the corner of his lips as he glanced up at the ceiling. Then, assuming a more Malfoy-esque expression, he nodded. Draco couldn't help but chuckle as he took the boy's hand to lead him to the door.

-;-;-;

Draco had forgotten how long of a carriage ride it was to the end of his drive, and released a rather lengthy sigh as he stepped from the interior. Turning around, he held his arms out for Chayton, who launched himself forward with a laugh before his father set him back down on the ground. "I hadn't planned on letting you see this place before you turned eleven, but seeing as it's where they're holding the wedding, I don't have much of a choice." With that, he took the boy's hand and apparated to Hogsmeade.

-;-;-;

Having ended up carrying Chayton halfway to Hogwarts, Draco was now **quite** exhausted. Though he kept up with regular exercises, they didn't involve carrying a four-year-old up a steep hill. The wedding itself was to be held in the Great Hall, the reception taking place outdoors if the weather held up. As Draco took the first step into the castle, he felt the horrid memories flooding back to his mind. Those few final days of the war, the Light side held up inside this crumbling building to protect it. And he was on the outside, though he rather wouldn't have been.

The way to the Great Hall was easy enough to remember, even with Chayton attempting to point him in every other direction. If the boy was fascinated now, it would be interesting to see him once he was attending.

The doors of the Great Hall stood open as a form of welcome, Draco smirking as he approached. When he walked into that spacious room, he could have sworn he heard someone say, "who the bloody Hell invited **him**!" Must have been Weasel. That obnoxious voice could be recognized anywhere.

Scanning the room, the blond Slytherin noted that Granger was seated not far from where he stood. And, she was alone. That smirk growing just a bit larger, he lowered Chayton to the ground, speaking calmly to the child. "You remember Hermione Granger, don't you?"

Chayton beamed, glancing to the table that his father was looking at. "Course I 'member, Daddy. She's the nice lady that came over all the time." Draco couldn't help but allow his eyebrows to lift. **Nice** lady? Draco scoffed as he rose, elegant strides carrying him to the table where she was seated. He made himself comfortable across the table from her, Chayton climbing into his lap. The comment his son made nearly made him fall over. "Miss Granger?" Hermione's eyes lifted, focusing on the small boy. She gave him a nod of recognition, signaling for the boy to continue. Clearly, he understood. "Do you like my Daddy?"

Hermione found that her mouth had dropped open, snapping it shut hard enough that her teeth clacked together. "To be completely honest, Chayton . . . No, I don't like your dad. I respect him, I suppose."

Chayton nodded, snuggling closer to his dad. "Why don't you like him?"

Hermione lifted an eyebrow, shifting her eyesight to Draco with an amused smile. "Because he's egotistical, aristocratic, and pompous. Not to mention incredibly irritating." A tendril made itself loose of her bun, which she managed to tuck behind her ear without glancing away.

Chayton gave her a look that clearly said, 'I don't know what all of those words mean, but I'll agree just to be nice.' This awarded a laugh from her as she swirled the champagne in her glass. Blimey, she loved children.

-;-;-;

The wedding was absolutely beautiful, and Hermione found herself trying desperately to hold back her tears. Two of her best friends were finally being joined in holy matrimony, and she had to take mental notes of everything. Rita had been very pleased with Hermione's bachelor story, and thus had awarded her the 'honor' of writing about Harry's and Ginny's wedding.

Now that all of the serious stuff was out of the way, everyone had been moved to Hogwarts grounds, tables having been set up with a flick of Molly's wand. Hermione was seated comfortably, scribbling away on a piece of parchment so as not to lose track of everything that had happened so far.

The sensation of someone's hand upon her shoulder made her jump, as she was so engrossed in her work that she hadn't noticed anyone approach. Turning in her chair, her eyes locked with Draco's, one eyebrow lifting in wonderment. "Come to insult me about how I put too much effort into everything, Malfoy? I'm not in the mood." She shrugged his hand off, turning back to her parchment and continuing to write.

Draco rolled his eyes, shifting to make sure Chayton was safe. He was currently dancing with Ginny, and acting **much** like the playboy his father used to be. Ginny was in a fit of giggles, hardly able to dance from the spasmodic laughter. He turned his attention back to Hermione, shifting to stand beside her. "Actually, I came to see if you wanted to dance. But, seeing as you're too busy, I'll just be on my way." He turned, ready to steal his son from the newlywed and return to his manor.

But the voice behind him halted him. "Draco . . . Wait." He turned, eyebrows lifted curiously as she rose from her seat. "I suppose one dance won't kill me. Besides . . . My hand is beginning to cramp." She offered a hesitant smile before striding toward him and following him to the dance floor.

Merlin, it felt good to be in his arms again! And just when she was beginning to enjoy it, he had to speak. "Your hair looks better down." Hermione sighed, not able to decipher whether that was an insult or a compliment. To stay on neutral ground, she kept quiet. "Things like that usually require a 'thank you' of sorts, Granger."

Hermione mumbled the only thing she could think of at that moment. "Sod off, Malfoy." Yet, she was smiling when she looked up at him, only to be interrupted by a tug on the skirt of her gown. Glancing down, she noticed Chayton at her feet, blushing furiously. "Yes, Chayton?"

The small child fiddled with the hem of his tux jacket, lowering his eyes. "Can I dance with you, too?"

Hermione released a gentle chuckle, releasing her hold on Draco and squatting to look Chayton in the eyes. "Of course you can." She rose from that lowered position, taking Chayton's hands and allowing him to lead. A smirk tilted her lips as she glanced at Draco, "you know, this son of yours could teach you some manners. If you'd let him."

Draco rolled his eyes once more, nodding his head to get her to shut up. "I believe you've told me that before, haven't you?" All he got in response was an elegant shrug.

-;-;-;

Hermione scribbled furiously in her office, adding the last finishing touches to her story just before turning it in. Placing a rather flourishing signature on the bottom, she held it up to eye it, caramel drifting over the words easily. Smiling, she rose from her seat, making the familiar trek to Skeeter's office. She knocked once before letting herself in, setting the parchment on the woman's desk. Rita offered her a smile, twirling her hair and muttering a swift 'goodbye' before hanging up her phone. "Wonderful! The wedding story, I presume?" Hermione nodded. "Splendid! I'll have it sent into the press immediately. Your bachelor story should be printed out in a few days. In the meantime, I have some other **minor** stories for you to keep busy with." Rita handed Hermione a small strip of parchment, a list of stories upon it. "You, of course, can choose which is first, as they're all the same urgency. If they turn out like these last few did, I'll be justified to give you a raise." The blond offered a smile before sweeping passed Hermione and out of the door. Stifling a groan, the brunette returned to her office, clearly despising the stories laid out for her.

-;-;-;

Sighing, Hermione set her quill down atop her desk, leaning back into her chair and resting her eyes. The story she'd chosen from Rita's list had been the hardest of the bunch, as she felt the right to give herself a challenge. Now, she was proving to herself that she'd underestimated this juicy bunch of information.

Running her fingers through her hair, she leaned over the parchment once more, picking up her quill and twirling it between her fingers. "Come on, brain. Work!" She focused entirely on the notes that she'd taken over the past couple of days, an idea finally coming to her. Smiling, she pulled out a fresh piece of parchment and began to write.

-;-;-;

Now seated in her office, Hermione perused through her story once more, double-checking for errors and the like. Although she wasn't entirely happy with her work, it was professional and there wasn't a thing wrong with it. Save the way it was written.

Shrugging, she rose from her chair with parchment in hand. Straightening her shirt, she strode down the hallway and knocked on Rita's door. The woman answered happily, taking the proffered parchment before seating herself behind her desk. She motioned for Hermione to make herself comfortable.

Hermione was, for the first time in a long time, incredibly nervous. Rita had never read her stories while she was in the room. The brunette found that the hem of her shirt was intensely interesting, her fingers tugging at the fabric.

"Well, Hermione. I won't hold anything against you, considering the nature of this story. But, I suggest that you investigate the others on the list that I gave you. As for this one, I can't print it. It's not your usual style. People would begin to think that someone else is writing for you, and that's never a pleasant thing! So, off with you! Find something else to write on!"

Hermione rolled her eyes, rising from the chair and heading back to her office. Of course it wasn't her usual style! It was on the growing popularity of Pigmy-Puffs! Animals had never been her area of expertise.

Arriving at her office door, she slunk into the small room and plopped down in her chair. What the Hell else was there to write on?__


	13. Update On Chapter 13

Ladies and gentlemen—

I regret to inform everyone that chapter thirteen will be postponed for a bit longer. I was nearly finished with it (I know that I overshot my deadline) and my computer crashed. Hence, I lost all of the work I'd already done on it.

Fear not, as I've outlined the entire chapter, perhaps the thirteenth will turn out better than my previous attempt. I'm beginning to wonder if I should skip and call it chapter fourteen, simply for the fact that I seem to be having the worst luck with this one.

I will be doing my best to re-start and complete it, but I can't make any promises as to when it will be posted. Of course, I would like to know if there are still some avid readers out there. Your support is greatly appreciated, even if I haven't been the most dependable author as of late.

Wish me luck.

~D.M.

02/03/2009__


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